Previously on Kingdom Hospital: The Triangle shirtwaist factory incident happened, only several years earlier and several hundred miles to the north. An earthquake happened. Otto the security guy saw dead people, yet managed to elude the usual side effects (conscription in Pay It Forward, puberty). Peter Rickman got hit by a car and communed with Anubis, the most orthodontically augmented anteater ever. He hung with dead little Mary and healed his own egregious brain traumas while stunned doctors watched. We got introduced to Dr. Hook (Andrew McCarthy), and Peter (who we already knew from him getting sideswiped thirty seconds ago), and the psychic Mrs. Druse (Diane Ladd, providing all the answer anyone's ever needed to the question, "Where does Laura Dern get that tendency to play nutball parts?").
As the ghostly message "Beware the walking dead" appears on the wall, the promo guy drones that they're about to "face an unspeakable evil and uncover a secret that has reached beyond life…and death!" We've also seen a lot of other people wearing a lot of corpse gray makeup and looking serious (when dead) or wearing flesh tones and looking panicky (when not dead). Anyway, Mrs. Druse and her stylin' plum-colored beret tell Dr. Hook that "something has awakened here. Something evil" as a pair of gray hands pops out of the ground Carrie-style.
Anyway, the promo guy is still carrying on and promising, "Tonight, one doctor's discovery leads to a psychic's search, and an innocent soul reaches out, and evil awakens. And now, Stephen King's Kingdom Hospital!"
I would just like to note here that it took two minutes to get to the freakin' beginning of the episode, and the promo looks like it gave away all the best stuff up front. Whose genius editing is responsible for this? Ah, the credits -- which looks like someone went through Carnivale and Six Feet Under's openings frame by frame and then blew on a dandelion while saying earnestly, "I wish I was Dave McKean! I wish I was Dave McKean!" before sitting down to get to work -- they roll. Bring on the fun!
Or the commercials. Watching Kingdom Hospital appears to be not unlike going to an actual hospital, with the hurry-up-and-wait.
A-ha! Actual new episode stuff, only five minutes into the hour. The doll on the top of the elevator shaft falls down. Mrs. Druse calls down to Dr. Hook and asks if he's all right. It's hard to tell, since we can only see him from the knees on down, and nobody's sprung for lighting in this scene. Dr. Hook eventually says he's fine, and Mrs. D asks querulously, "Did you find anything?" "Yes. Career rehabilitation via playing vaguely unsettling introverts," he responds. No, actually, he cops to finding the doll. We get a shot of Mrs. D in the hall, still working that beret as she pleads, "I want to see it!" Back in the elevator shaft, Dr. Hook's looking like that's the last request he wants to handle right now. He eventually whispers that he dropped it, and Mrs. D ups the pleading. He's looking pretty panicky, but he tells her to just give him a minute.
We then hear the lumbering whine of an elevator and the camera does some loop-de-loop so we know it's moving, but it's not readily clear whether the elevator is moving down or the camera is pulling back, or what. It appears to be moving down.
And now, we're outside the Androscoggin County, ME, correctional facility, done in a charming Federalist style with limestone facades and a copper cupola worn to a fine patina. It is the most lovely penal facility I have ever seen. The inside, however, has the tell-tale penal décor --lots of bars, not a lot of wall-to-wall carpet, muzak or something like it. And by "something like it," I mean "high-pitched voices ululating nonsense syllables so they sound foreboding without distracting you with actual lyrics." I wonder if that gets on the inmates' nerves.
The camera follows a trusty down one hall that's worse lit (and therefore more foreboding) than the others, and we see Rolf lying on his bunk, reading a pamphlet titled "Hell is a Barroom." Yeah -- and it's populated with Irishmen. The trusty delivers the mail, and as he opens the slot, the background singers kick it up a notch. I can't believe the ACLU hasn't brought suit on that yet -- surely hearing that constantly constitutes cruel and unusual punishment. The shirtless Rolf walks over to pick up his mail. I suppose the shirt is off to convey the following information: Rolf has something tattooed on his right pectoral; Rolf has a dark dragon tattooed down the left side of his neck; Rolf apparently forswore carbs and did a lot of crunches before his killing spree. Well, it figures. Slaughtering entire groups of people probably requires some sort of cardio endurance, at least. Rolf looks around to make sure nobody watches him get his mail, and then reads the first letter. "Rot in hell, counselor," he responds. Rolf is clearly not grasping the concept of voice mail.
And now it's raining. This shouldn't be a problem for the giant car parked by a pier somewhere, as it is a certifiable land yacht. Unfortunately, the person in the car is listening to WOOO, the radio station that provides the inarticulate creepy soundtrack for your workday. We get a long shot of the car, which fails to be either ominous or illuminating. This show sure is fond of throwing in shots that tell you a whole lot of nothing.
Back in the cell, Rolf is standing up and checking outside the window again lest anyone catch him in the act of reading. The perspective switches to the bottle blonde in the car, who's whispering part of the Hail Mary before pulling out a sheet of either stamps or stickers. We switch back to Rolf in his cell, unfolding a heart-festooned sheet of paper and reading, "Dear Rolf -- I'm waiting for you, honey. I'll be there for you every single day, and even though I know you don't believe it, your lord and savior will be there too, waiting for you every day as well. I know you didn't do nothing wrong. And if you did? Well, it was for us."
Rolf begs to differ with a heartfelt "Rot in Hell, Harriet." Harriet continues via letter, "I'm praying for you, honey. And I love you soooooo much." Anyone else here got the feeling Rolf and Harriet may not really communicate all that effectively? Harriet adds a P.S. in a flirtatious whisper: "I did like you asked me. See you soon."
Rolf looks thoughtful, then peels something -- I can't tell what -- off the paper and sticks it in his mouth. The camera perspective switches to Harriet doing a Hail Mary as she licks something and sticks it to the paper. On the other end, Rolf licks his fingers. While I'm complaining about the shots and editing on this show -- I love how you can see stuff that makes no never-mind whatsoever (i.e. Rolf looking out the window), but God forbid the camera actually focus on any of the details that might come in handy later.
It appears to have stopped raining in Harriet's neck of the woods as she finishes plastering the paper with stickers/LSD-impregnated stamps/whatever and knocks off a few more lines of the rosary. She then picks up a framed photo of Rolf, tells him, "Okay, baby, I'm coming," over the sound of the rain (I know…), and puts some little white pills on the picture while excitedly repeating that she's coming. Back in his jail cell, Rolf takes off his glasses and snaps the earpiece neatly. Out pop some more white pills. Wait -- his glasses double as a pillbox? Where do you get those? My Oliver Peoples frames barely stay on my nose -- forget about storing my allergy meds in there. I feel all ripped off now. At least, I would if I had actually paid for the frames, as opposed to my insurer doing it for me. Harriet lovingly takes the pills. Rolf takes his like he's on a dare. Harriet lies back and smiles as the water continues to run down the windshield and those damn kids keep "aah-eee-aaaah-eeee-oooooooh"-ing in the background.
Back at the hospital, Abel and Christa appear out of nowhere to hang with Dr. Hook and Mrs. D. Dr. Hook makes the intros, and Mrs. D warmly says, "It's lovely to meet both of you. Are you brother and sister?" Abel says, "We are all brothers." Christa adds, "We are all sisters." Mrs. D beams and says, "That's very Christian." Dr. Hook asks how Abel and Christa always know what to bring, and asks them to open -- "Car two," Abel finishes. "Always car two," Christa adds. We get a shot of Christa smiling, and then go to the far-off top of the elevator car, where the doll is resting on top. Dr. Hook opens the elevator shaft door, which says more about the hospital's safety record than the whole "Woooooooo! It was built on eeeeevil ground!" conceit does. Unsurprisingly, Christa and Abel are familiar with both the doll and its owner. Mrs. D is distracted by this, but Dr. Hook is more interested in watching Christa get the doll. Mrs. D snatches it out of the butterfly net Christa used and breathes reverently, "It's handmade." Dr. Hook looks frankly skeptical. Or maybe that's just Andrew McCarthy's default expression now that he's gotten past the shellshocked look he wore through much of Pretty in Pink and Less Than Zero. Still, there are worse expressions to have your face permanently frozen into: he could be channeling the same bug-eyed evil leer Judd Nelson's been wearing in those I'm Chaining Women Underwater! 'Cause I'm Creepy! movies he makes for the USA channel. Mrs. D is thrilled, because it's very, very old. She asks the doll, "If you could talk, what would you say?" And because I've read a lot of Stephen King, and I can still remember the story about the evil monkey toy (even if I don't recall the title), I'm half-waiting for the doll to say, "I'd say, 'Hey, check me out. I'm a talking doll.' We'd start small, since you'd probably be as dense and credulous as that bore on Friday nights." And look, here I am, outing myself as a Stephen King reader. There goes my spot on the Harold Bloom Christmas card list. Ah, well -- I don't have the aura of election on me anyway, now that I've gone on Atkins.
I'm kidding about the Atkins, by the way. You will pry the potatoes out of my cold dead Irish-on-one-side hands. Rolf would be having potatoes right now too, if he weren't in the middle of a lunchtime seizure. It may or may not be relevant that his arms are spread out and it looks like he's crucified. See Rolf foam at the mouth. Foam, Rolf, foam.
Meanwhile, Peter's chilling like a…well, not really like a villain, since the episode's overt baddie is busy having a full-on neural meltdown in the Androscoggin brig. Dr. Draper is talking with two nurses about why Peter's alone (his roommates have a nasty habit of dying) and why his numbers don't look so good. The bluff and hearty nurse snaps, "At least he's not paralyzed. How many miracles do you guys want in one day?" "Seven. It's a number with a nicely mythic resonance," Dr. Draper snaps. Oh, she does not. She replies, "As many as we can get." She grabs Carrie Von Trier (real subtle, Steve) and heads out while the other nurse rolls her eyes.
Mrs. D and Dr. Hook enter his office. Dr. Hook is looking a little shaken, and Mrs. D immediately starts in with, "What did you see, Dr. Hook? What was on top of the elevator? What did you see on top of that elevator? What about prom, Blaine? What about prom?" Dr. Hook isn't sure. Ah, there's the Andrew McCarthy I remember from the 1980s. I realize many of you may have swooned over him, but I was always crushing on the James Spader characters in those movies. Say what you will about Rip or Steff (hee! Those names!), they had stared unblinking into the big void where their ethics were and come back from the experience looking hot. Morally vacant, but hot. Anyway, Dr. Hook and Mrs. D establish that he saw the little girl clinging to the elevator cables, and Mrs. D begins protesting, "That little girl needs help! She's calling out for it." Just park a TV on every floor and hire Zelda Rubenstein to wander around calling, "Go into the light! Go into the light!" Dr. Hook fails to suggest this and thereby shut Mrs. D up.
As an ambulance races through downtown Androscoggin, the EMT who's attempting to jam a tube between Rolf's clenched jaws wonders at the cosmic unfairness of having to do what they're paid to do whilst toting around a lot of the driver's brother's stereo equipment. The driver's considerably more sanguine: "Squeeze happens, bro." The guy in the back complains that Rolf's eyes are bulging out of his skull. The driver calls, "Pupils?" Yup. Still there. And crossed, too. Apparently Rolf dosed with the same drug The Joker uses to kill people. And just then, the EMT explains why he can't get an airway with, "He's grinning like The Joker in Batman!" Ooh, I'm prescient. Move over, Mrs. D. There's a new clairvoyant on the block. Right at that point, the stereo turns itself on and begins playing "Kiss Him Goodbye." Tragically, it's not the Nylons' enjoyable a cappella version. The driver wants to know why it's on; the EMT's baffled too. There's some traffic-related mayhem, and the EMT hollers, "Every time I turn up the O2, I'm getting more bass out of the woofer!" Rolf begins sweating more profusely and convulsing even harder. The EMT hollers, "He's doing the Watusi. I'm going to have to slow him down!" The driver responds, "Valium might do it if he's given himself a strychnine P.O." Then he goes back to almost getting into crashes while the radio exhorts everyone to "Go on and kiss him / good-bye / sha-na-na-na, hey hey hey, good-bye." The way something as incongruous as pop music is integrated into a hinky situation totally reminds me of the scene in the reissued "complete and uncut" The Stand where someone's getting killed in his car while Madonna's Material Girl plays on the radio. The EMT labors while the driver's dealing with his own automotive weirdness, a driverless antique ambulance that goes to cut him off as the song notes, "He's never near you / to comfort and cheer you." As all the sad tears are falling from someone's eyes, the ambulance disappears. Real subtle, Steve. The EMT announces that Rolf's about to "aspirate a bolus of barfola," and he can't intubate him because "it's like trying to tube a timber hitch!" The driver hauls the ambulance out of the scene to the strains of "Hey, hey, hey / goodbye."
After the commercial break, we're back at the hospital. Dr. Draper enters an examination room, where Dr. Hook and Mrs. D are waiting. Dr. Hook asks Dr. Draper if she wants to get involved, and she shoots back, "After what Steg did, yes." Dr. Hook announces, "I'll get James." He assures her it's necessary. As Dr. Hook leaves, Dr. Draper picks up a syringe and turns to Mrs. D. Mrs. D asks, "What's that, dear?" Dr. Draper tells her it's Novocain.
Meanwhile, the unrestrained spree killer Rolf is wheeling into the hospital, accompanied only by the two ambulance guys and not, say, any armed guards. The EMT gives the rundown: "Airway's shut tight. Is 'B' for breathing or barf? Circulation, probably not. So I'll guess 'D' --none of the above. Remember that raver kid we had last year, had the LSD cut with strychnine? This guy could be his big brother." A-ha! So those stickers or stamps that both Harriet and Rolf were licking weren't just there for decoration. As Dr. Whatsername prepares to save Rolf's life, Dr. Hook comes over, correctly pegs Rolf as "public enemy number one," and says darkly, "Do everyone a favor -- let him die."
Elsewhere, Dr. Jesse James is holding forth to his right hand about the exciting potential of Project Morning Air. But he's going to keep his left hand in the dark on this one, because the left hand doesn't need to know what the right hand is doing. Dr. Hook comes on in, and the camera goes into a crazy 45-degree angle so we can see his deadly serious expression as he sticks his thumb in his mouth and mimes inflating his pinky. Dr. James does the same in response. He then pulls one over on Dr. James by telling him Mrs. D may have suffered a small stroke since one side of her face is numb.
Dr. Whatsername is staring down at Rolf and saying they'll put him on Versed if the Valium doesn't calm him down, and the gruff mean nurse decides now would be a good time for Carrie to give everyone a demo on intubation. She turns around and pleads, "Not this one. Please?" The two women just stare at her like they're the rush sisters evaluating a would-be sorority pledge. Carrie comes over, shaking, and tries to do it. Rolf gags, and the brusque nurse says with sadistic glee, "That would be the trachea." Well, Carrie's a little preoccupied with shrieking, "His eyeballs are bleeding!" She'll have to bone up on everything below the nostrils later. Everyone leans in to check it out, and then Rolf's eyes snap open. They all pull back in unison. Rolf looks to the left, then to the right, then sits up stiffly. The sounds of the staging area recede, he's put under a spotlight, and then he pulls out the tube and looks at it before singing in the key of spooky, "Na-na-na-na, na-na-na-na, hey, hey, hey, goodbye!" Everyone looks a little nonplussed. Then Elmer holds up his stethoscope and starts, "He'll never love you / the way that I love you…" The women kick in with, "'Cause if he did, he wouldn't / make you cry…" Rolf looks around and thinks, "HA! I have infected them with the same spirit that killed the last season of Twin Peaks! Soon, this show will collapse under the weight of its repeated, heavy-handed attempts to unsettle viewers through quirky and foreboding scenarios!"
Otto and his dog come on by, and Otto looks in to see Rolf sitting up at a 90-degree angle, illuminated by that bright light and looking around in a sort of malevolent daze as a highly trained medical team reveals that the first activity they gave up in their zeal to make the medical grade…was choir practice. Honestly? This doesn't really creep me out so much as bug me, because it reminds me of that Superbowl 1997 commercial where the E.R. docs are listening to one patient's monitor and they begin singing "Tainted Love," and I'll be darned if I can remember what the product being advertised was. ["I think it was Levi's, but I wouldn't swear to it." -- Sars] Dr. Whatsername pushes the staring Rolf back down on the gurney as she sings, and he discreetly peers up and checks them still singing. Know what else this reminds me of? That scene in Twelve Monkeys where Bruce Willis comes to and all the doctors sing, "I got my thrill / on Blueberry Hill…" Anyway, Otto heads off singing as well. No word from the dog.
And now, Drs. Draper and Hook pull one over on Dr. James re: Mrs. D and her fake stroke. Dr. James signs off on Mrs. D's ten-day stay and waves off Dr. Hook's desultory caution about Dr. Stegman not liking the expense by saying, "Dr. Stegman's got other worries today -- Mona Klingerman's mother."
We see Mrs. Renee Klingerman explode through the hospital's swinging doors and introduce herself to the nurses with a no-nonsense query about Dr. Stegman's arrival time. He's due at 4 PM. She grabs Mona's chart and heads down to the room where her daughter is sitting cross-legged on the bed and rocking back and forth. Mary's there with her, keeping her company and keeping time on the rocking.
After the commercials, we see Natalie sitting at Peter's bedside and asking tearfully, "What are you dreaming of?" Natalie, you don't want to know. It looks like he's behind the looking glass or at the Black Lodge -- all that's missing as he walks down the black-and-white tiled hallway is the Red Queen or the dancing dwarf. Too bad he gets the Barry White-sounding anteater Antubis instead. Peter asks what Antubis is, and he replies, "Different things to different people. Just remember: I do you a solid, you do me a solid. That's how it works." Peter notes that Antubis saved his life and got him out of the halo. Antubis modestly replies, "I did more than that: I saved the quality of your life. But you're not out of the woods yet." Antubis pads off, then turns around to add, "You're getting a new roommate. I'd watch out for him, if I were you." Oh, that's real helpful. Why is it that mystical totem animals always have to speak in riddles? Do they not think that being a talking animal would be mystical enough without adding some gnomic mumbo-jumbo into the mix?
A tubed and deeply unconscious Rolf is on a stretcher, and Dr. Whatsername tells the avoirdupois-laden Dr. Whathisname that he's "a dirty rat who got into some rat poison." Dr. Whathisname says, "Seems the dirty rat's girlfriend sent him the stuff in prison. Took her own share. A suicide pact. Unlike Rolf here, she made it." Rolf lays blissfully unconscious.
Bobby tries settling Mrs. D -- or "Momma," as he likes to call her -- into a room, but she's got dead people to commune with. "I'll start in the basement, and I'll take her doll, because she'll be wanting her doll."
A stereo is still playing the "na-na-na" song as Abel and Christa go walking by. Abel notes, "The old lady has begun searching." "Will she find the little girl?" Christa asks. "The little girl's with the dead," Abel points out. "That's spooky!" Christa says. "Yes. It is spooky," Abel concurs. He adds, "She may find the other one." "The bad boy?" Christa asks. "The bad boy," Abel adds. Thank you, offbeat Greek chorus. You know, when I get my pretentious spooky TV series, the Greek chorus will be provided by actual Grecians speaking Greek. Or maybe just Nia Vardalos doing her big fat Greek shtick. Or maybe, if she's all demanding on the set, I'll replace her with two Delta Kappa guys who can comment on the plot's creepy goings on with, "Brah, that's so effed up!" and the occasional shotgunned beer.
Dr. Stegman is stalking down the hall, Dr. Abelson churning in his wake. He fusses over a Project Morning Air sticker on the door, and she peels it off for him with great ceremony. And then he tells some log-toting woman to get back in her hospital bed. Kidding! I just wanted to comment on how irritating the whole "quirky crap happening for no discernible reason" business is.
Mrs. D is carrying around her doll and her magic crystal as she wanders hither and yon. If she's hoping to attract Stevie Nicks, she's nowhere close. She wanders through the door labeled "Johnny B. Goode," and Johnny looks up from his copy of Bag of Bones (subtle, Steve) to greet Bobby and Mrs. D, and snot about how Bobby's carrying Mrs. D's bag. Bobby says, "Hi, Johnny," uncomfortably, and Johnny, still on the subject of the bag, replies, "Debonair, but sleek." Bobby and Mrs. D wander off again, and the phone rings. Johnny answers, "Maintenance."
Back in Steg's office, Dr. Abelson is picking up books and twittering around. Dr. Stegman says, "That isn't your job." On the other end of the line, Johnny answers, "All I did was pick up the phone. And it is my job." Stegman says he's from the neuroscience department, and "the earthquake has rendered my office a shambles. I need someone to put it right immediately, please." Johnny tells him that's housekeeping's bag, and Stegman shrills, "No! I want you to do it." Stegman asks, "Is this Goode? John B. Goode?" and Johnny lies, "Hawke. John's out with his teeth." He blows off the Steganator and goes back to reading his book. My kind of guy. Dr. Abelson then does the most disturbing thing I've seen on this episode -- rubs Stegman's back while chirping, "All better! Mama fixed it. See Mama fix office, and now Mama fix Steg. Kiss it and make it all better." Ew. Ew, ew, ew, ewwwwwww. The kissing was gross. Steg grumbles, "The head of the hospital is brainless, the staff are morons, Hook defies me at every turn." Abelson coos that he needs to calm down and try to play nice with the other MDs. Stegman grumbles that now "they want me to join this idiotic organization, the Keepers of the Kingdom…" He shouldn't grumble; this whole show keeps alluding to "The Old Kingdom," so clearly it's important.
The name rings a bell with Dr. Abel, who does the weird thumb-sucking greeting thing Drs. Hook and James did earlier. Dr. Abelson cuddles closer and asks about the Klingerman meeting. She's awfully canny -- I wonder if she's using him for some darker aim, or if this is just some sort of clumsy exposition. Maybe it's both. Stegman mutters about Renee Klingerman's threat to go to the medical review board, and says in a fit of self-pity, "Hasn't anyone ever told you, you go prospecting around in a person's nut, sometimes things happen?" Abelson gets a calculating look and says, "If things should go bad, the keepers may be able to help you." Stegman looks down and Abelson's eyes get very wide as she nods. She butters him up with, "You are a great man, Steg. You are a genius. A genius can see far, even from the shoulders of little men. So if you should run into problems with Mona's mother, for the Keepers, such problems sometimes go away." Steg looks thoughtful. Maybe he's imagining standing on people's shoulders and looking off into the middle distance. He and Abelson do the Keepers gesture together and laugh.
Off in the bowels of the hospital, Mrs. D and her boy go looking for ghosts. Bobby's all, "You tired, Mama? Would you like a wheelchair?" What is it with the shows that feature the touched-by-the-supernatural woman and her hulking idiot son? First we had Adrienne Barbeau and her boy on Carnivale, and now this? I would love it if just once, instead of a sweet, simple hulk, the giant guy turned out to be freakishly smart and possessed of a razor-sharp wit. Anyway, Mrs. D dismissively says that would be nice, and continues tripping down an ever-darker corridor, not listening to Bobby's exhortation to "Wait here. I don't want to have to go looking all over for you." She stops by a set of elevator doors and asks, "Little girl, little girl…if you're here, give me a sign." She sighs as the crystal does nothing. Then, as Mrs. D moves toward the elevator door, the crystal begins moving wildly from side to side. "Oh! You are here. You are," she gasps. Mrs. D leans against the elevator door and tells it, "I know you're here."
On the other side, Paul rolls his eyes demonically before looking thoughtful. Eeee! Scaaaary. Mrs. D whispers, "Give me a word, little girl." Paul gives a happy, malicious grin, then squeaks, "Help me." Mrs. D is so excited, she's practically hyperventilating, and then the percussion of portentousness kicks in and she quickly adopts a look of horror. She whispers, "Who are you? You're no child. What are you?" Mrs. D crosses herself, and then Paul says in a low, creepy voice, "Druuuuuse." The camera zooms up so we can see the lit corridor she's standing in on one side of the door, and the purple-lit elevator shaft with Paul snuggled up to the door on the other. Because the door's a metaphor, you see. Paul looks up at the ceiling, snarling. At least whoever cast this had the good sense to use an actor who can be believably creepy and evil. Of all the miscasting gaffes in The Stand -- Rob Lowe as a swarthy Greek, Molly Ringwald as the tough and independent Fran (I kept expecting her to whine, "What about prom, Harold? What about prom?"), Stephen King as…well, the painfully obvious author cameo -- Jamey Sheridan as the Prince of Darkness was the most egregiously wrong. Jamey Sheridan could maybe play the marquis of moral relativism. Playing bone-chilling evil? Not his forte. I can't believe they couldn't get Kevin Spacey -- he was still small potatoes then, it would have been possible. Ah, well.
Mona's watching what appears to be a reflection of light off water as it dances on her ceiling. She rocks back and forth as Renee pleads with her to make eye contact. Mona can't. She's too busy checking out the poolside of the damned. Mrs. Klingerman weeps, "What's that son of a bitch done to you?" We may find out after the commercials. Or maybe not. This show isn't exactly tripping over itself in its zeal for narrative clarity.
Or maybe we'll find out that Abel and Christa are graffiti artists. They're sharing a can of spray paint and decorating a car as the punks across the street grin in friendly approval. They all wave to Abel when he waves. Awww, such nice hoodlums. Abel and Christa laugh. Vandalism is fun!
Drs. Stegman and Hook are waiting in front of the elevator bank, and Stegman huffs, "Patients and doctors expected to share the elevator. Ridiculous! It's not that way at Boston General, I'll tell you that." Stegman seems like the kind of guy who would spend a lot of time telling his current girlfriend how she fails to behave like his ex-wife. Hook whips out a passcard and summons an elevator with one swipe. Stegman looks shocked. Hook hands it over with, "I got it from housekeeping. Keep it." Stegman clambers into the elevator, looking indignant, and we hear Hook ask as he walks in, "Don't they have mag cards at Boston General?" Heh.
Another elevator opens up, and we see Bobby wheeling his momma out as she thanks him, telling him she's very tired. He clucks, "At least you made contact with the little girl, Momma." Mrs. D corrects him, "Well, it sounded like a little girl, but I'm not sure it was her." Bobby wants to know who she talked to; Mrs. D say she doesn't know, and she's scared. Bobby doesn't care much for this kind of talk. Where are Abel and Christa with the mumbo-jumbo about the bad boy when you need them?
Stegman charges on by the nurses' station, and Carrie flags him down to tell him Mrs. Klingerman's been cooling her heels for a while, thus having more time to brood about how Dr. Stegman ruined her daughter. He grabs her and tells her to come along because she can help "by listening. I find in conversations like this, it's best to have an impartial witness."
In the Klingerman room, Renee's trying to feed her daughter, a task made more complicated by Mona rocking back and forth. On the bright side, at least catatonic people are less likely to pose the question, "Can I absorb these nutrients dermally?" and then proceed to answer it at the dinner table, unlike the majority of infants and toddlers who are being spoon-fed. Anyway, Steg comes in and gets off on the wrong foot by trying to introduce himself, since Mrs. Klingerman's aware that a) he is indeed the Stegmanator, and b) he's late. Stegman apologizes with, "I'm sorry. Things came up. We don't have enough qualified doctors to go around, unfortunately." Nurse Carrie takes this all in with wide eyes. Stegman tries for jocularity by cribbing Dr. James with, "And illness…sucks, as a friend of mine likes to say. How's Mona doing today? Sweet little Mona." Well, it is difficult to be petty and spiteful when you spend all day rocking back and forth in a trance. I could probably manage, but I have years of deplorable character in reserve against such a medical emergency.
Renee continues trying to feed Mona while saying tightly, "She used to be an A student, Dr. Stegman. Did you know that?" Stegman broadcasts to everyone in the room -- even Mona, who has more supernatural demands on her time --- that he's about to cover his tuchis with the most inflated excuse ever: "I wanted to offer a few comments and observations on your daughter's surgery." Renee turns around and says, "Her face is the only comment I need. She used to be an A student. Now she can't eat, she wears a diaper. God help me, I almost wish you had killed her instead of only ruining her!" Mona's giving everyone a creepy look here. Dr. Stegman looks acutely uncomfortable as he clucks, "Please, Mrs. Klingerman, we mustn't be so negative. Mona does have a long road ahead of her, but she is alive. And, uh, in time, with the proper rehabilitation, she'll be able to learn a great deal." He then smiles, pleased at having recalled several key phrases from Things To Say That You Won't Regret Later When They're Read Back During Your Malpractice Trial.
Mrs. Klingerman is interested to see exactly what it is Mona can learn. Nurse Carrie Von Trier looks intrigued as well. Dr. Stegman proceeds to step off a cliff, conversationally speaking: "Uhm. There will be…times when she will be able to perform…uh, lots of functions. Uh, um, housework, for example." Even Carrie can't believe she just heard that. Renee asks, "Did you say housework?" Dr. Stegman completely misses the question behind the question -- "Are you enough of a jerk to talk about my lobotomized daughter pushing a broom like it's a good thing?" -- but Stegman answers that anyway: "Yup, yup. The repetitive functions of, of setting a table, for example. And, uh, um, making a bed is fully within her cognitive scope." The camera swings back to Mona, who's making the sitting-still thing look like a Mensa challenge. Stegman's riding a domestic groove here with musing. "Vacuuming will always be beyond her, but --" Nurse Carrie cuts in and begins to say something, but Mrs. Klingerman rides on over her with, "My husband and I have retained the services of a law firm, Dr. Stegman. I'm told they are the best medical malpractice lawyers in the state. Perhaps when they're done with you, you can get a job vacuuming." Stegman looks taken aback at this prospect.
He fumbles, "During the concluding phase of your daughter's brain surgery, we had to remove more healthy brain tissue than we would have liked. That's because we were trying to completely remove the cyst. I was being assisted by a young fellow. I wouldn't call him incompetent. Overzealous, perhaps. A little aggressive, but these things happen in the field of neurosurgery from time to time, but the innuendos that I had --" Carrie looks like she's ten seconds away from joining Mona in her rocking on the bed. Renee cuts in, "Don't be silly! This isn't an innuendo! It's an accusation! You butchered my daughter's brain! And very soon, you'll be facing the same accusation in court. Are you getting all this, [Carrie]? I hope you are." Carrie tries to steer an outraged Dr. Stegman out of the room, but he begins blustering, "Medical malpractice lawyer. The meddy-mals, yeah? The vampires, huh?" What was he, hanging out with Edina Monsoon before he came into the room? This sounds like her incoherent brand of ranting. Stegman continues contemptuously, "Always willing to assure the grieving parents that there's no such thing as fate, only bad doctors! Well, at Boston General, I-I --" Carrie really is rocking at this point, albeit in smaller motions than Mona. Perhaps they can synch up while Renee interrupts, "At Boston General, you killed a woman with a garden-variety meningioma by continuing to operate when your own anesthesiologist told you her blood pressure had fallen dangerously low."
Stegman gets drawn into the argument, shouting, "That is a damn lie! I was doing a thorough job!" Renee begs to differ: "That is why you're here, Doctor. At the only hospital -- God knows why -- that still believed in you!" Madam, you have either the forces of darkness or an anteater to thank for that hiring move. Renee goes on to accuse Stegman of cutting into the wrong side of Mona's brain since he can't tell his left from his right. That's not really an insult so much as it is a Far Side cartoon. Come on -- tell me you can't see it too, with the caption like, "Dang! I can never remember if it's left-loosey, righty-tighty." The whole thing degenerates into Renee and Stegman shouting, and she finishes with, "Your job…" and, to quote the closed-captioning, "[makes vacuuming noise.]" She spits, "If you would excuse me, I would like to continue feeding my future housekeeper." Mona rocks back and forth, clearly not under the impression that setting the table is a Good Thing. Stegman, unable to let it lie and get out before a multimillion-dollar settlement joins his foot in his mouth, is all, "Here we have a patient's mother. An expert, no doubt, at writing invitations to charity events at country clubs, accusing the author of over seventeen scholarly articles in the field of neurosurgery of malpractice! Madam, I have opened a few skulls in my time! I cracked my share of nuts! And I've saved more than my share of lives! And even in this godforsaken patch of nowhere, there's such a thing as defamation of character! So you sue! Sure, you go ahead! You be my guest! And I will countersue you the day, the hour! And when my lawyers are finished with you, madam…" Well, in the words of the closed-captioning, "[Makes furious vacuum noises.]" Nothing I can write will top that.
Stegman inarticulately screams and heads out. Nurse Carrie works to her strength, i.e. standing there and being completely useless. Renee finally yells at her to leave. Mona continues rocking as her mother breaks down in sobs.
And now Peter -- remember him? Tenderized upon the bumper of a large vehicle? Now walking in a shadowy dream world, singled out by supernatural forces beyond his ken for what amounts to a cosmic game of chess? Wow, that last sentence could so totally sum up 70 percent of Stephen King's protagonists. Anyway, little Mary is calling his name to wake him up. He opens his eyes and sees an antsy-looking Mary with a bell around her neck. He asks who she is; Mary introduces herself. Peter asks, "Why do you look so sad?" She explains, "I lost my dolly." Peter demonstrates his tenuous grasp on the freakiness of the situation by slurring, "Is that all?" Mary tells him, "I'm afraid." He slurs, "What are you afraid of, honey?" Oh, of that surly adolescent ghost hanging out in your monitor. He appears suddenly and snarls with his vampire teeth, and Mary cries, "Of him! Of him!"
Paul picks Mary up, and as the bell chimes, he snarls, "Leave her alone, short-time. Butt out. That'd be my advice. She's not the only one who has a bell." He makes it sound like all the ghosts are equipped with them. Someone should tell Mrs. D. Then she could stop dangling that stupid crystal around, listen for the bell, and cut to the chase with questions like, "Why can't you people make a little small talk before working around to the threats?" or "Would it kill you to say what you mean? Um. Metaphorically?" Peter gasps to Mary, "How?" and she cries, "Let Antubis help you!" before Paul claps a hand over her mouth and hustles her off. Oh, if he had an anteater, he'd be baffled in the morning. He'd still be baffled in the evening / all over his be-ed. Sorry -- I just realized I recapped a scene in which the three participants were named Peter, Paul, and Mary, and I began channeling "If I Had a Hammer."
Speaking of sounds of the 1960s (pre-hallucinogens version), "Na na na…" begins ringing out again as Rolf gets wheeled through the hospital. Elmer leans in to ask Peter, "Sleeping the sleep…of the just?" Nursque Brusque is all, "Can I get a little help here, Elmer?" He runs off, and Natalie, who appears to be dressed for a night out on the town, leans in and confides to Peter, "This place is crazy."
Peter's internal monologue is focused on helping Mary because she and Antubis saved his life. Mrs. D is talking with Nurse Dea and she finds out Mr. Stillmach has taken a turn for the worse. Hmmm…maybe it's a slow-acting death bell. The song keeps playing in the background. "He's never near you / to comfort and cheer you" plays as we see Mr. Stillmach sitting alone in a darkened room and mouthing something I can't make out. Stegman leaves to the lyric "when all those sad tears are / falling, baby, from your eyes." Otto wishes his image on the monitor a good night. As we get to "My love, my love, my love is willing," we see Bobby reading Spanking Nurses. He whispers, "Elvis has left the building" as the singers exhort us to "Go on and kiss him / goodbye." Otto looks haunted by this. Stegman gets outside, and we see that Christa and Abel have spray-painted his car with the slogan, "Physician, heal thyself."
Meanwhile, back in the land of Rolf's hallucinations, the staff is dancing around (Nurse Von Trier finally does something usefully and break-dances. She got served!) while he sits up ramrod-straight and begins pantomiming the words. Everyone does a line dance while Rolf and his mad, bloody eyes glare up there. Rolf looks disturbed, but that could be a result of Elmer the Whitest Man on the Planet trying to shake his groove thang. Or maybe it's because the drawer his girlfriend's body is on in the morgue has opened of its own accord, and Harriet has risen from the dead to begin singing, "He'll never love you…"
Stegman continues to melt down, but the country's most clean-cut punks aren't around to laugh at his irritation. Since Abel and Christa know all, they're still able to get a good chuckle out of it down by the dishwasher. They begin dancing to "Kiss Him Goodbye." Stegman screams, "There will be reprisals for this. Reprisals!" Oooh, scary. Not.