Couch Baron
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Before we get going, I'm going to get a little sentimental here. If all you're interested in is sex and violence, it's not like I don't get you, but you might want to skip to the paragraph. In the first place, TWoP lives! Woo! I should have said something in my last recap, but I was too busy melting into a large pile of goo. But really, it means as much to the staff as it does to the users. I've had so much fun recapping, and especially recapping Oz, and I would have been really bummed to see that experience cut short. In a similar vein, I'd like to note that this is my fiftieth recap for TWoP. As I mentioned in the forums, I won't be able to do another one for several weeks, so the timing seems excellent. Also, since I'm currently living in England and therefore can't cover any first-run U.S. shows, it's pretty unlikely that I'll make it to a hundred recaps, so let's celebrate now. Drinks for everyone! Of course, I'm sitting alone writing this. Well, more for me, then. If you come to TARcon, I'll get you there. But seriously, big props to everyone in the Oz forums. You guys are the best. I can't remember the last time I had to do any moderating in that section, unlike another which shall remain Buffy. (Kidding! Don't email me!) And, as always, big snaps to Sars. In memory of the recent blackout, flush your toilets in salute!
Oh, and one other thing: I'm glad this is a milestone recap for me, because this is the best episode of this show I've seen since "Capital P." And now that you're channelling Homer Simpson and chanting, "Less gab, more stab," I'll get on with it. Shanks at the ready, everyone!
Of course, great things often come from inauspicious beginnings, as we open with another edition of Hill's Harlequin Crackhead Monologues. He tells us that all the relationships in our lives are colored by the way we relate to our family. He adds, "No wonder the world's so fucked up!" and gives an Eddie Murphy-as-Cameroon-exchange-student-in-Trading Places "Ha ha ha ha ha!" Hill, in keeping with the point you just made, you're so annoying I want to slap your mama.
Said's doing some research in the library when Schillinger greets him and tells him he read his book. Said: "I don't give refunds." A snarky Said? Yeah, this has potential. Schillinger says he liked it, but Said merely snorts and asks what he wants. Schillinger says that Said is a man who wants to use the law against himself, which Said has said himself in almost exactly the same words. I'd like to note that this episode is chock full of little nods to Continuity, and given the systematic anal rape he took in the later seasons of both Buffy and Oz, it's nice to hearken back to his halcyon days. Schillinger goes on that he too wants to fuck the system, and says he wants Said to defend him at his conspiracy to commit murder trial. Said laughs incredulously, but Schillinger makes his pitch: If Said defends him, an Aryan, it'll stun Glynn and McManus, and rock the outside world. "You'll be known as a man who truly strives for justice, blind to race, unfettered by prejudice." Said, after blinking disbelievingly and giving a dramatic pause long enough for Godot to show up and fill us in on what he's been up to for the past several years, says he'll think about it. You may disagree, but I think this pitch to Said's ego is spot-on. My only problem with this whole idea is that I don't think the Aryan Brotherhood is going to respond too well to Schillinger enlisting Said's help, but I think Schillinger can pitch it in a clever enough manner to convince them. Really, all he'd have to do is flash that grin -- it's enough to scare heaven, hell, and everything in between.
“ How is it possible that I sympathize with both Poet and Wangler, and yet I can't stand either of them? ”
Wangler roots around in Poet's stuff until he finds some of his poems on a little notepad. Poet catches him, and Wangler rips one of the pages off and crumples it. Poet's reaction is somewhere in the range of "angry, but on heroin," which may be just what he was going for, but I think it's just because muMs sucks rocks as an actor. Anyway, the hacks break them up. They're led off, and Said looks concerned as Adebisi dances maliciously in the background. I'd lay good odds that whatever he's listening to has the subliminal message "Kill!" sprinkled liberally through it, with smatterings of "Rape!" as well. Maybe he's listening to GWAR.
McManus lectures Wangler that it's his third incident in as many weeks, and that he's sending him back to the kitchen. Tim, you said you'd send him to Gen Pop the time he fucked up, so thanks for wussing out again when it really counts. Asshole. Wangler sits there petulantly, and I swear all I want to do is rip that ridiculous pantyhose cap off his head and burn it on a blazing fire. The smell probably wouldn't be too good, but it would so be worth it. McManus also tells him that he won't be allowed to attend graduation, which gets Wangler's attention, as he already invited his "girl" and his mother. Tough beans, dickhead. And stick that cap back in a L'Eggs egg where it belongs. Outside, Wangler and Poet stare each other down, their collective intimidation powers being roughly akin to those of Reichen and Chip (for those of you who don't watch The Amazing Race, that translates as "nonexistent"), and then Poet's in McManus's office. McManus exposits that Poet is indeed going to have his parole reviewed, and that he has to stay out of trouble, even if it means putting up with Wangler. How is it possible that I sympathize with both Poet and Wangler, and yet I can't stand either of them? Sometimes misanthropy can be very trying. (Yeah, I know, you don't care.) McManus goes on that Sister Pete told him Poet hasn't been going to drug counselling, but he'll let that slide too, because "You give this place a good name." You know, vomit isn't the easiest thing to clean off a laptop. Poet agrees to behave himself.
Cut to the hearing. The leader of the panel reads off Poet's number and name in a very meta way. He says that he's going to ask Poet a series of questions, after which they'll make a recommendation to the parole board. He asks if Poet has any questions. Poet shows good judgment by saying no, rather than "Do any of you all have any smack?" which is what he was undoubtedly thinking.
“ Pernicious Peewee, you are my anti-McManus, and a higher compliment I cannot bestow. McManus looks at Glynn, who's all, 'I'm the most incompetent warden in history. Why would you even think of dragging me into this?' ”
And, thanks to the Tesseract Television that Oz so often employs, we cut right to McManus entering the classroom and saying he has good news. Kirk looks at him and Coushaine and wonders, "You two are engaged?" It's time to buy that lottery ticket, because Timmy Kirk made me laugh. It's Coushaine's dumbfounded look that sells the moment, though. I hope we get a prisoner flashback for the guy at some point, because frankly, he's so strait-laced that I find it hard to believe he's ever even jaywalked, much less committed a felony. Anyway, McManus announces that Poet has been granted parole. Poet just stares with an expression that would be more fitting to bad news -- for example, that he HADN'T gotten parole. God. I'm sure it's very unenlightened of me not to be moved by muMs's poetry, but the fact is that Rick Fox is a better actor than he is, and I really can't abide all the time spent on his storyline. McManus says that the paperwork will take a couple of days, so he'll get out right after graduation, and Coushaine adds that that will be fitting, as he and McManus have chosen Poet to be the year's valedictorian. That annoyed me too, but we know that Poet could at least read and write before the class even started, so it makes a certain amount of sense. McManus says that Poet's good fortune should inspire them all, while Wangler looks on with whatever the male equivalent of "bitchface" is. McManus gives them all a little pumped fist that at least made me laugh in its ridiculousness, and then leaves as Poet tries for pensive, but really looks like muMs doesn't even realize the cameras have been rolling for the last minute and a half.
And it's the Pernicious Peewee! I didn't realize what a good character he is until I had to go a few episodes without him. In Glynn's office, the PP mutters to Glynn that McManus needs a little education himself, "in reality." McManus enters, and bitches to Glynn about the "sneak attack." God, shut it, you self-important git. Glynn informs him that "the state" has decided to eliminate the GED program from the year's budget. McManus says the PP can't do that, but the PP gives the "watch me, candy-ass" answer that they need more hacks, and the budget can't handle both. He says that he'll be making a formal announcement on the fifteenth, and that the news is classified until then. McManus whines that that's three days after graduation, and the PP duhs that he planned it that way, so as not to ruin the ceremony. McManus continues in that stroppy tone that I wouldn't take with my mother, let alone my boss, demanding to know if the PP is coming to the graduation. The PP smiles and mock-sighs, "Unfortunately, yes. The wages of spin." Hee! He leaves. Pernicious Peewee, you are my anti-McManus, and a higher compliment I cannot bestow. McManus looks at Glynn, who's all, "I'm the most incompetent warden in history. Why would you even think of dragging me into this?"
McManus walks with a TV station representative, saying he doesn't want a big production that will distract the inmates. He also says that he wants the segment to run for three minutes, and perhaps you heard a wheezing sound coming from across the Atlantic? That was me, trying to catch my breath after laughing so hard. You'll take the fifteen-second sound bites they give you and like it, tool. He smarms, "I want your viewers to know that something good's coming out of Oz." Amazingly, the rep doesn't laugh in his face. You know he's going to be reciting this conversation when he gets back to the station, though.
“ Poet 'rhymes' 'Dom Perignon,' which he mispronounces, and 'Armageddion [sic],' and this is genius? muMs the word, Poet. muMs the word. McManus smiles, but Mukada has a 'what the fuck is this shit?' look on his face, and I am not kidding. Word, Father Ray. ”
Graduation. McManus is speaking, and in keeping with the historic (well, to me, anyway) nature of this recap, I'm going to give a shout-out to the old Dawson's Wrap days and note that my Maalox scorecard is really getting a workout here. Shots of McManus through a video camera are interspersed as he blathers about a "communal victory" and changing lives, until he gets to his big moment: He drops the bomb about the GED program being discontinued, and while this is totally inappropriate and not his place, the PP was sort of asking for it. Plus, I saw it coming from a mile away, unlike a certain later development involving this character. Also, right afterward, we get a shot of the PP's reaction through the video camera. Hee. It's the "Oh No He Di-Int!" of camera work. Needless to say, the PP doesn't look pleased, although he's certainly not fuming. to him, Glynn looks amused, and number one on my list of 1001 Reasons Why Glynn Is Better Than McManus is that he doesn't take himself so goddamned seriously all the time. Maybe the world needs people like McManus, but that doesn't mean I need him on my television. McManus blathers on, eventually having the nerve to quote Chuck D, and it was at this point that I thought my McManus hate could not go any further. He's already Public Enemy Number One in my book. But no. There's a whole new subbasement to be explored. And that's just in this episode.
McManus finally gives up the stage to Poet, who recites a long poem that I thankfully have an excuse to skip, as I'm only ten minutes into the episode and I'm already on page four. Pete smiles and nods sagely during the poem, like she has the slightest clue what he's talking about. Poet "rhymes" "Dom Perignon," which he mispronounces, and "Armageddion [sic]," and this is genius? muMs the word, Poet. muMs the word. McManus smiles, but Mukada has a "what the fuck is this shit?" look on his face, and I am not kidding. Word, Father Ray. Poet says he has "144,000 rhymes for every brain cell," and either he's saying that he has 144,000 rhymes for every brain cell, which is truly too horrifying to contemplate, or he only has 144,000 brain cells, which is far easier for me to accept. Anyway, he finally finishes up, and the audience applauds as he hugs a Sunday-dressed woman that I'll assume is his mother. Aw. Coushaine presents the graduates as Glynn and an obviously grumpy PP get to their feet. Hee. Coushaine calls each of the graduate's names in voice-over as we see Wangler mopping the floor back in Oz. Ha! I feel bad for his mother in more ways than one, but he totally brought this on himself.
Men's room. McManus enters to find the PP pee-peeing. Man, the Foley guys must drink an awful lot of water during the day, because they consistently pipe in the loudest sound effects. I mean, there are things I'm willing to take on faith, okay? McManus whips his out, as once again the show literalizes a metaphorical concept, and jauntily asks why the PP didn't stay around for cake and coffee. Yeah, I think he's had enough coffee already. The PP is all, "McManus, McManus, McManus," and tut-tuts that McManus must think the PP is vulnerable with his wife having left him, the drop in the polls he took after the riots, and the corruption charges he's facing. I hope he's not going to tell us that he's been shacking up with a gay couple for the past several months, because the description is already frighteningly Giuliani-esque. McManus: "I'm a simple man with a simple plan." This would be unbearable if I weren't absolutely sure that the PP is so about to put McManus in his place. Sure enough, he responds, "Yes. But I'm not." The PP says that his enemies have underestimated him. "The voters and I have a love-hate relationship. They know I'm a bully. They suspect I'm dishonest. They even assume I cheated on my wife." However, he says, crime and taxes are down, while employment is up, and the literacy rate is second in the country. "So do you seriously think that John and Jane Q. Public give a shit that some drugged-out homeboy is gonna get a diploma, knowing that their own little darlings are going to Yale?" Yeah, I'm thinking you're not getting three minutes on the evening news, Timbo. He pats McManus on the arm, and as he walks out he snarks, "Enjoy that coffee and cake." Ha! I'm going to take a break from the recap and watch that scene, oh, I don't know, about 17,000 times.
“ The sentence 'You can do better, Diane' graciously accepts its award at the Understatement Of The Year competition. ”
Some hack tells Shirley (yay!) that she's the prettiest girl on Death Row. I'd point out that I don't think there are any other "girls" on Death Row, but I think he might actually have been trying to be funny there. Anyway, she favors him with a smile, and he lets Mukada in to see her. Cut to the two of them sitting on the bed, as Shirley muses that she never was one for religion, which makes it doubly amusing when she refers to atheists as "whatchadingies." Hee. Mukada asks if she's an atheist, although if I were in his position I totally would have asked, "Are you a whatchadingy?" Wait for it: Because I'm twelve. She says since the "accident" she's had all kinds of feelings, and Mukada flinches at that description of the circumstances of her daughter's death. She asks for him to save her, and soon her hands are in naughty, and new, places. And I thought she was barking up the wrong tree with Kirk. From the music on the soundtrack, you'd think a litter of puppies was about to be run over by an eighteen-wheeler, and indeed Mukada looks like he can't decide whether he's more horrified that she's hitting on a priest or that he's being hit on by a woman. Mukada calls for the hack, but Shirley wails that she's "so fucked up" (uh, yeah) and starts crying. She apologizes, and he sits back down and hugs her. I would have laughed really hard if she started hitting on him again, but it's not to be.
Hill, still in the crib, tells us that since you don't get to see your real family in Oz, you do things that help keep them closer to you in your mind. He seems to have made up with the giraffe, although they may just have settled into a classic prag relationship.
McManus goes to see Schillinger in Gen Pop. Schillinger, playing pool, snarks, "What brings you down to the low-rent district?" Hee. And I get another snicker from realizing that that's the same pool table Schillinger will be using to sink his, er, "cue" into Petey Schibetta's, uh, "pocket." McManus says that just because he's not in Em City anymore doesn't mean he doesn't care about him. Unlike so many other people on this show, Schillinger actually does laugh in his face, which just gives me another reason to love him. He goes on, "McManus, I had to listen to your sanctimonious crap when I lived in Em City, but I don't have to now." And that's a shout-out if I've ever heard one. McManus admits he doesn't care about him, and Schillinger loudly notes, "Honesty!" for his hangers-on. In a lower voice, McManus says he wants to talk to him about his accusation that Diane shot Scott Ross. I don't know why he's dredging this up again. Really. Schillinger says he saw it happen, and McManus presses him for details. Schillinger scoffs that McManus just wants to protect her, and that they'll just bury the truth. McManus: "Not this time." Schillinger actually believes him. Uch.
Cut to Diane at the control panel. McManus happens by, and Diane stops him. She says that since her mother is in the hospital, her daughter is staying with a friend nearby, and since he had asked to meet her (another nod to continuity), she thought she could take the three of them to dinner that night. It's also worth noting for later that she says she's told her daughter a lot about him. Anyway, he unenthusiastically accepts. The sentence "You can do better, Diane" graciously accepts its award at the Understatement Of The Year competition.