Last season recap: People yell and punch and kick and scream and make threats; Cloutier gets buried behind a wall, all Poe-style; Beecher doesn't get parole; Oz blows up.
Kick-ass to see Peter Criss in the credits; I was once a major KISS fanatic and he was always my favorite member (while others worshipped Gene Simmons's tongue or Paul Stanley's overly hirsute chest and collected tinfoil at lunch to create their own dragon boots, I was way into "Beth" and tried to do the cat make-up by myself one Halloween, which of course failed miserably and left me looking like that woman in Airplane). I think there's more naked flesh in the credits this season -- a slice of ass here, an expanse of abdomen there -- which I fully support, and say a silent thanks that, even if Oz may suck here and there, I've got one of the few shows on television that revels in -- nay, overindulges -- male nudity. It's nice to the see the cock getting some exposure.
As befits a season opener, there's a bit of explaining to do for the newbies; wheelchair-bound Hill begins his weekly voice-over by explaining that "Oz" is street for the Oswald State Correctional Facility, Level Four, and that here we can find a panoply of low-lifes, from murderers and rapists to drug dealers and racists -- the most common of criminals. But, asks our sibyl, what makes a man common? Or unique? Not winning wars, or awards (lovely enunciation here, I'd like to point out), but who he loves and who loves him (Hill here rolls behind a bunch of family photos, including one of an older woman who's dressed like the Gorton's fisherman in mourning).
End of monologue, beginning of badness. A bluish tint fills the screen, signaling flashback; a semi swerves across a double yellow line, signaling doom. Sure enough, a doughy guy behind the wheel struggles to stay awake, certainly under the influence of a potent pharmaceutical cocktail and exhausted after driving for 427 straight hours, as that's what truckers do. There's a school bus, of course, stuffed to the gills with gifted children on their way to a nursing home where they'll be singing songs and handing out freshly-baked cookies to wet-eyed seniors. The semi has two massive, gleaming oil tanks hitched to the back, of course, filled with highly flammable materials, or perhaps an experimental chemical that makes people age decades overnight…oh, wait a second, wrong preposterous yet delicate and subtle plot thread.
Or not. The school bus driver climbs on the horn; the bus narrowly misses the careening semi, shoots off the road, and does a couple of rolls before coming to a standstill. I don't see any stunt dummies (children, whatever) in the back, and we immediately cut to the diminutive governor making some proclamation, so it'll be awhile until we know what really happened. Maybe the children were gifted and deaf, on their way to distribute canned goods to the less fortunate. And the limbless.
So, the governorette is holding a press conference and yammering about the state's fabulous, modern correctional facility -- the most neatest, modernest one in the whole solar system, to hear him tell it. The state will spare no expense or effort in housing -- and punishing, emphasizes Tiny Devlin -- criminals (or "bottom-feeders," as he calls them. So sodomy laws must still be in effect round these here parts). Four hands and the largest pair of scissors in Christendom (which I just know will disappear into someone's briefcase and get whisked through airport security and carried on to a plane, even though my nailclippers were confiscated last time I flew, lest I manicure someone to death) cut the ribbon on, I presume, the new, super-strength, post-explosion Oz. The new Oz looks exactly like the old Oz, with industrial metal appointments and cozy family-style mess hall seating.
And apparently just a dining room, as the tour abruptly ends. Self-righteous Father Mukada barrels into view. Parking lot. School bus. Mukada speaking in annoying, soothing tones about visiting difficulties caused by the recent explosion to a group of completely uninterested listeners. Visitors to Oz standing to the school bus, including the Schillinger girl with dead Hank's spawn. Those who they love and who love them. Well, perhaps I can just stop writing right now, since the rest of the episode has just been explained. And there goes the gifted-children theory.
Murphy and McManus are organizing the prisoners for their return to Oz; McManus mentions that this is the first visiting day in months. Think that bus will be full? As McManus calls inmate names for line-up, Mukada reads from a list of bus-bound visitors -- all females: Carrie Schillinger and baby; Hill's mother; a black Muslim woman; a sassy Latina, all fuchsia and cigarettes. The women board the bus and the prisoners parade back into Oz, making grunty, manly noises about the refurbishment. The bus begins the drive to Oz as the return procession continues. Back and forth and back and forth; Mukada smiles smugly as he surveys the denizens of the estrogen-mobile; the inmates remark about the completely non-existent differences between old Oz and new Oz. Room assignments are delivered and the bus keeps moving.
More Hill: lots of noble, worthy individuals, he says, have somehow ended up on the wrong side of the prison bars over the years. Such as Thomas Paine (cue Revolutionary-era recorder music and cut to Hill standing in an oh-so-smart frock coat) for treason; without old Tom and his incendiary writings, America might never have been free. Or statesman, scholar, and saint Thomas More (who, apparently, fancied acres of crushed velvet and silly hats) who got beheaded for honesty. Point, please. That upstanding individuals who dress poorly may get incarcerated? One can only hope.
Oh, no, the point seems to be Cloutier -- flashback to the wall-in and Cloutier screaming for help. Back at the present, some redhead whose name escapes me has taken over Cloutier's pulpit, and sermonizes about how it's okely-dokely to punish the guilty; while there are times that a man will be blamed for his actions, he can do whatever he pleases when smiting those who deserve to be smited. This is, understandably, going over well with the prison crowd. Red starts praying -- with far too much plot-advancing detail -- for Reverend Cloutier, who made it through the blast and out of the wall, and who will be returning to Oz after a stint in a nearby burn unit. Jaz Hoyt also gets a shout-out, as he took full responsibility for pulling a John Wayne Gacy on Cloutier…well, this is a revealing little vignette. Ick -- perhaps too revealing -- Hoyt evidently spends his time in solitary confinement searching for something embedded far up his nose. And then flicking it off his finger.
McManus charges into the infirmary and asks Dr. Nathan if Cloutier is back. Affirmative, Timbo. McManus needs to talk to the good reverend because he's got Hoyt in solitary for the walling, but Hoyt's no snitch, and McManus wants to know who else was involved. Dr. Nathan reveals that Cloutier can't speak yet; all McManus needs is a nod, so he heads off to get to the bottom of things. Dr. Nathan advises caution, explaining that Cloutier's survival is a miracle. McManus scoffs, but Dr. Nathan says she's just trying to prepare him for what he is about to face.
"Face." Huh. Cloutier doesn't really have one -- gone is the hair, the beard, and a significant portion of flesh. McManus walks in and stops short when he sees what Luke Perry, beloved sexpot, has become. 'Cause it ain't pretty. Basically, Cloutier has melted into a lump of shiny, bubbly, scorched meat with small dollops of what looks like large caviar on his face and chest -- the make-up team has really outdone themselves. Cloutier makes some wet groaning noises as McManus watches, rapt and completely horrified. Take note, casting directors everywhere: Luke Perry is a serious actor who will compromise his pin-up looks for a good role.
Guerra asks Morales if he's getting any visitors today -- yup, he says, his sister Annette. Loves her to death, always been there for him, but she's a bit of a headcase. It's her ass we see , however, sashaying down the aisle of the bus, where she proceeds to sit down to a shocked-looking Mukada. After implying that he's gay (duh), Annette asks after her brother, and says he must be bored out of his mind when Mukada reveals that he comes to Mass each Sunday. While she keeps insisting that everything she says comes out wrong, she sounds pretty lucid to me. After some more flirty chit-chat, she says she's going to see Enrique (as she calls him) because her husband messed with her and she needs a bit of help; she takes off her jacket, removes a bandage, and reveals a long, nasty gash along her forearm. Mukada gets squeamish, presumably both from the sight of blood and from the dawning realization that Annette wants her brother to do some serious retributive damage to her hubby. He asks her not to tell him any more, she says that as a priest he can't say anything to anyone, and he reminds her that the no-talky rule only applies to information delivered in a confessional, not on a bus. Annette doesn't like this nitpicking one bit -- she leaps up, calls Mukada a "self-righteous jizz-ball [I think she actually said 'cheeseball,' but 'jizz-ball' says so much more]," and says, "You don't know dick about dick. And that came out exactly the way I meant it." Excellent delivery, although I think that dick is one of the few areas where Father may be an expert.
Alvarez, breathing heavily in solitary, doodling two big eyes on the wall; he gets up, looks antsy, and spits in one of them, as the window to his cubicle swings open and the guards start extracting the solitary prisoners from their cells and escorting them back to Oz, where they proceed to make the same grunty noises about the same non-differences. Leo tells them that a ventilation problem needs a-fixin', and that the boys are headed back to Gen Pop for the duration of the repairs. Alvarez gets a punch in the tummy for violating mandated silence as Leo explains that this represents a second chance -- if they behave, they don't have to go back to solitary. Insane, annoying, dumb-as-a-post White wants to know what's up with the air ducts, and gets a club to the back for opening his maw. As the solitaires walk back into Gen Pop, White skitters around asking for McManus, and Alvarez draws a seriously ominous look from Morales; Guerra and his henchmen promptly pay Alvarez a welcome-home visit in the shower (allowing Alvarez to deliver a lovely little half-ass flash).
Guerra's upset since Alvarez killed Ricardo and Vasquez, and he's come to extract payback. Alvarez starts talking about bodily fluids -- spit, sweat, blood, tears, piss (all the fun stuff) -- oh, and thanks for the pubic hair -- until Guerra tells him he's "fuckin' nuts." Alvarez concurs, and then punches Guerra in the face; as Guerra's cohorts move in for some serious damage, Murphy enters with a posse of guards and breaks up the fun. Guerra claims they're taking showers, and Murphy rips off Alvarez's towel (full dickage this time -- and nice six-pack, by the way); a shiv appears, Guerra gets sent to the cage, the other two goons get sent to their cells, and Alvarez gets escorted out while yelling about the water content of the human body.
Gym time. Alvarez skips rope, and Morales informs him that he's "one lucky fuck." Morales offers to get Guerra off Alvarez's back, but Alvarez says he's not gonna kill anyone anymore, nor is he gonna sniff a butthole, and calls Morales "chica," which should be an express path to hole-smelling, but Morales just tells him that he'll never survive alone due to mini-cojones. Alvarez here disagrees, explaining that he cut his own face, stabbed Rivera in the eyeball, and slit Vasquez's throat, so he has what it takes to deal quite well, thank you very much. Heading fully around the bend, or at least far beyond the point of caring about his future, he starts yelling at Morales, then hits a basketball out of Giles's hands and forces him to his knees while calling him a cocksucker, to the joy of the gathering crowd. Giles headbutts Alvarez's nether region and punches him in the head, and Alvarez goes down.
This outburst provokes a lecture from a concerned McManus (whatever); he worries that Alvarez will be sent back to solitary, but Alvarez maintains that Leo will never let him walk around anyway, and plus, he's doomed, so it doesn't matter, and then he compares himself to quicksilver and does a seriously grating bit of scenery-chewing to remind everyone that, yes, he's a little bit loopy, and definitely unstable.
White calls somebody "girl" -- oh, wait, that's just how he says "Guerra" -- and starts teasing "Girl" for being in the cage -- offers him a banana, tells him he looks like a gorilla. Loving the intricate wordplay here. McManus shows up and White looks relieved to see him; White describes McManus's heart as bigger than…well, just really big, since he got White out of solitary and all, and starts to apologize for all the crap he gets strangely sucked into, against his rage-driven, hair-trigger will. McManus, justifiably pissed off at White for beating and stabbing him, starts to walk away, but White perseveres, promising to be a good boy. McManus appreciates the effort, but really wants to know what provoked White to kick him in the head. Turns out that White was upset because McManus hadn't mentioned his appearance on Up Your Ante in advance; White felt that, after sharing thoughts and feelings with each other, McManus should have told him instead of letting him find out along with the other prisoners. What. The. Fuck. Ever. So White, his weird schoolgirl crush on his jailer moving into truly psycho territory, thinks McManus owes him an apology. Work detail thankfully stops this debacle from progressing further; White leaves McManus looking thoroughly over it all.
White delivers a food tray to Redding; one of the Latinos calls White a "maricon," and Redding promises that White will soon have his revenge, but White claims he's "really, really, really" trying to stay on the straight and narrow. Trying so hard that within seconds he's jumped the name-caller -- as Alvarez walks by looking pleased -- and ends up switching places with Guerra in the cage. White, crestfallen after yet another screw-up, locks eyes with McManus, who looks even more fed up, turns on his heel, and stalks away. But Clarice, people will say we're in love.
Now Hill's riffing on early explorers, who discovered new lands but ended up in the big house. Marco Polo and Christopher Columbus are this monologue's dressed-in-costumes-that-were-stolen-from-a-junior-high-drama-department subjects, men who bravely sailed for new horizons, unsure whether they'd find something interesting or fall off the Earth's edge; apparently, Columbus was also a bit of an embezzler, and later found himself balled-and-chained. I guess Marco Polo also did some mad crimez, but Hill, doing double-screen duty as both intrepid adventurers, doesn't mention what they were. Mail fraud? I'd like to suggest an episode where someone actually wears these costumes around Oz; I'm thinking that much merriment -- and even more nudity -- would ensue.
Bus. Mukada helps Carrie Schillinger feed the baby -- Jewel. As in Richard? All she wants is a little support so her baby girl can have a happy life. I'm afraid you picked the wrong family, dollface, especially since blood tests have proved Hank's paternity. Mukada asks about Carrie's parents, but they're back in Montana, and don't "give two shits" about their wayward daughter and her ill-begotten spawn. Carrie starts lamenting that Hank played video games all the time and watched Natural Born Killers repeatedly -- now that's original -- and wonders if things might be different had her beloved Hank avoided exposure to the wicked, deadly Oliver Stone. Mukada opines that perhaps other factors -- like his sociopath of a father, perhaps -- contributed to Hank's short and loserly existence. Carrie asks Mukada to bless Jewel and to remove the purse on her head, the purse that killed and imprisoned so many Schillingers. Or maybe she said "curse."
Schillinger, sporting an infirmary gown, is telling Bobbsey-twinned Robson that he's excited to see his granddaughter, as Poet rolls by with some food-esque substance that looks like blood-tinged scrambled eggs. Robson wants to get back to Gen Pop so they can punish Said for shanking them; Schillinger starts talking about the Muslim jihad and maintains that the Aryans kick ass in the war department. Robson flings his meal across the room and then sasses the immediately-present guard, since recuperating inmates can't be sent to the hole, as Schillinger laughs and stuffs his face.
McManus shows up at Said's solitary cell with a nicely folded outfit, where the latter is naked, raggedy-bearded, and doing pushups. Said stands and turns; as his muscular ass fills the right half of the screen, McManus informs him that the warden plans to charge him with attempted murder for stabbing the Aryans and asks if he'd like a public defender. Nope, says Said, all solemn and Said-like. Nor is he planning to represent himself. Mr. Angry will plead guilty.
In a staff meeting, McManus helpfully informs the rest of the gang that Said "is in a dark place." Leo wonders why he should be different than anyone else, which unfortunately encourages McManus to continue his observation that Said has been on a shame spiral ever since he killed Adebesi. Schillinger and Robson, he feels, are just more pieces of a larger puzzle. Sister Pete reminds McManus that Said was defending Beecher; McManus has no problem with the motive, but feels that the old Said would not have resorted to violence as a first choice. Dr. Nathan chimes in that she's releasing the two Aryans back to Gen Pop; Claire suggests keeping them in the infirmary longer, or perhaps drugging them. Nathan sarcastically suggests medicating all the patients (which worked so well for her last season), which Claire thinks is a swell idea, perhaps because that might make it easier for her to mount them. Leo gets all bad-ass and claims he's "not gonna take any shit from the Aryans or the Muslims." And he's going to lay down the law at a school-wide meeting in the cafeteria. 3 PM. Sharp.
While Said returns to hugs in the cafeteria, Schillinger and Robson enter to cheers; later, Robson picks up a wrapped box from the mail cart and delivers it to Said, who's surrounded by several pissed-looking Muslims. When Said opens it, he discovers a box of poop, apparently the shit that Leo said he wouldn't take. None too pleased with the gift of dung, Said flips the mail cart and jumps on one of the offending Aryans.
Beecher sits in front of a computer as Sister Pete walks into her new deluxe office. Beecher's excited about his better computer, particularly the increased RAM. Oh, ha ha. Pete relays the staff's concern about the Muslims and the Aryans, which Beecher feels is well founded, and then tells Beecher that she was thinking about him during her morning shower. Requisite kidding aside, Pete asks Beecher to broker a peace between Schillinger and Said, which sounds like a brilliantly stupid idea. Beecher seems skeptical, but after Pete tells him that it could save lives and favorably impress the parole board at his year-end hearing, he gets aroused at the thought of him, Schillinger, and Said in a three-way. Dirty, dirty, dirty.
Schillinger refuses, but Pete keeps at him, reminding him that he once asked Said to represent him, that he came to her looking for help in making sense of his life, that this will help him find peace, and that he can express what he is really feeling inside. I feel rage, says Schillinger. But, says Pete, you're smart enough to know that there's no comfort in rage and that rage destroys the soul. Crafty nun. She then moves on to Said's pod, as Beecher watches from the card table, and soon emerges with a thumbs-up.
And so Sister Pete's interaction begins -- Sister Pete makes her opening remarks, about understanding the skepticism with which they approach this summit and her appreciation for their willingness to try. As Said and Schillinger exchange words, Pete jumps in to remind them of the rules: each gets a chance to speak his mind, starting with Beecher, who admits feeling responsibility for what happened, since Said was defending him from Schillinger and Robson's tormenting when the stabbing occurred. He believes that Schillinger was justified in his happiness that Beecher's parole was denied, and that Said was justified in coming to his defense. Schillinger asks if he'd have been justified in stabbing Said if the tables were turned; Beecher says yes, which Schillinger thinks is "horseshit." According to Beecher (who desperately needs a haircut and is stuck delivering lame lines like "You'll want Sister Pete to send me to the state asylum for this"), this is so because Schillinger and Said are exactly alike (why, he is crazy!) -- they're strong men who have powerful visions, who want the best for their people, and who believe their people deserve full and satisfying lives, and on and on and on until he sputters to a stop. Pete steps in to end today's session -- after approximately one minute, which seems a bit counterproductive, but then, these guys do have nothing but time on their hands and can drag this kind of thing out interminably, a minute each day -- and calls for some introspection before tomorrow's sixty-second powwow.
Hill's talking about rapists, pedophiles, male hustlers -- the sex criminal litany -- as naked men mill about behind him. A much better choice than the fey costumes. Men who have turned sex into a crime deserve to be punished, says Hill, but sex is not always love, yet love itself can get a man incarcerated -- just look at Oscar Wilde (and it's costume time again, as Hill rubs a feather along the lips of another man, lisps about lips against lips being more lethal than a gun, and turns the back of his head to the camera as he leans in for a non-kiss with feather boy). I've now seen more dicks in thirty seconds than I have in all of the "respectable" television and movies of a lifetime. Bravo.
Back on the bus, the Muslim woman (Mrs. Arif) is talking to Mrs. Hill about America's fucked-up drug policy, which supplies narcotics and then arrests individuals for using them. Father Mukada, acting like a pussy, comes back and tells her that other passengers want her to shut up, as Jewel screams in the background, making the bus sound remarkably like all of my recent flights, where I seem to attract wailing babies like allergic people attract cats, and again making me wonder about the viability of an adults-only airline. Mrs. A feels like she's being asked to keep it down because she speaks the truth, and calls out that the country's drug policy is excessive, oppressive, and racist. You got that right, sister. She advocates treatment and spouts off alarming figures about escalating prison populations as Mukada tries to shush her by saying that Carrie's (lily-white) baby is trying to sleep, which is such an annoying argument for quiet, implying as it does that people deserve special treatment and consideration just because they've made the questionable choice to procreate. Give the baby a damn Valium and let the woman speak her mind.
Older, wiser Mrs. Hill saves the day, asking Mrs. Arif if her husband is an addict; he was, she says, but has found Allah and the strength to resist his cravings. He no longer hurts the family as he did when he was using. My son was an addict as well, says Mrs. Hill (her natty hat demonstrating where Augustus gets his fondness for costume). She advises Mrs. Arif that the facts that cram her head will never be as good as simple truths, and that the story of a man who overcame his addiction is the one that people need to hear. I'm not really sure I see her point here, but Mrs. Arif looks edified, so whatever.
In the cafeteria line, Arif is in a good mood because Mrs. Arif is on her way. His contentment is marred by the sight of slop-slinger Ryan O'Reily (looking pale and haggard), who disgusts Arif with his brutality, as evidenced in the Arif-witnessed bludgeoning murder of Patrick Keenan. Looks like O'Reily's not wild about Arif either -- he throws food on Arif's tray and tells him to move along before seeing something that inspires him to leave his post. It's slow, puffy Cyril, talking to some guy with a bad Joey Buttafuoco look. Ryan wants Cyril to stay away from the guy, but Cyril says he likes him. Name's Henry Stanton, apparently, and Ryan warns him to leave Cyril alone or suffer the consequences. Ryan wants to know what Cyril told Henry, but Cyril maintains he said nothing and gets all huffy. Pancamo comes over and tells the O'Reilys (a.k.a. "you mick fucks") to get back to work.
Arif sits in Leo's office, complaining that he agonized about tattling on O'Reily for murdering Keenan, but that after Said finally convinced him to come forward, Leo has done nothing. No hard evidence, counters Leo, and wonders if Arif has changed his mind about speaking publicly, which might help things along a bit. Arif, no dummy, knows that if he says anything, he's a dead man. And now, suddenly, he remembers that Ryan pulled a shamrock off the dead man's neck, even though the flashback scene clearly shows Ryan standing with his back to Arif (who's standing awfully far away for decisive pendant identification) and totally blocking any view of necklace-ripping. Sorry -- a sudden desire for plausibility made me forget where I was. Arif tells Leo not to let this one slip -- "Justice must be done," he intones, in that stock Muslim-y grave, serious way.
And here's Ryan, sniffing around Dr. Nathan, complaining about a pain in his heart (which gives me a pain in my stomach), wondering how she's doing after last season's retarded age-accelerating drug plotline. Oh, peachy, she says, pausing to provide some crucial plot details: reprimanded, fined, still a doctor, all's well that ends well, especially when it involves copious bleeding from the nose. As Ryan moves closer, Leo (damn, he's got some broad shoulders) materializes and tells Dr. Nathan that it's time for a walky-talky. After the walky part, Leo begins the talky, wondering about Keenan's necklace and the gold shamrock that Dr. N was holding during one of their post-murder chats. Oh, she says, it was Keenan's. Leo wants to know where it came from -- arrived in an unmarked envelope, says Dr. N. Thanks for neglecting to mention that during our extensive conversations about the untimely demise of your assailant, says Leo, which flicks Dr. N's bitch switch and she swerves in front of him, reminding him, in case he's forgotten, that she…was…raped. And sometimes does some pretty kooky things as a result, like forgetting small details about gold-plated accessories. And falling in love with psychos.
Honestly, she confesses, there's a part of her that's happy that Keenan's dead (wow, because that's so incredibly unbelievable); Leo understands and apologizes, but does have one more itty-bitty question to ask before shutting up about the whole incident forever and ever. Where's the necklace? Flashback to the good doctor handing the shamrock back to Ryan, as she spits, "I threw the fucking thing away." Um, yeah, pretty much. A lie that's the truth.
So Leo immediately tips his hand by bringing Ryan in for questioning, again; Ryan denies everything, again, arguing that he wasn't anywhere near the gym that day, that Leo's "informant" is a liar, and that there were lots of people who wanted Keenan dead. And that there are a lot of people who have major problems with Ryan himself. Leo, getting nowhere, sends Ryan out. Ryan, of course, immediately puts a plan into action; since he can't figure out who's squawking, he decided to muddy the waters a bit -- and who better to frame than Henry Stanton? Ryan gives an article about Dr. Nathan to a guy that looks like a displaced dot-commer and tells him to hide it in Stanton's trunk, while he, manly Ryan O'Reily, will be working to convince another "eyewitness" to the crime to step forward.
Baseball diamond, schlub Saturday, the green weenies at bat. Some guy takes a swig of beer, hands off the bottle, starts a base run, and is clearly tagged out. When the umpire makes the call, running guy goes ballistic, nails him with a baseball bat, and then goes after the gathering bystanders. This is so relevant, so now, so Junta -- and I totally think that's Peter Criss and suddenly understand the need for the years of make-up. His pasty, saggy face is so not helped by the ponytail (so often a dire coiffistic choice for the men, here a bona fide disaster) -- rad drummer yes, photogenic no. Martin Montgomery's the name, and Hill tells us that he's been sentenced in 1999 to two counts of assault in the first degree, eight years, with a chance for parole in five, as MM stands to the side fondling his baseball bat, flowing locks let free, chin nowhere to be found, and I'm left nostalgic for the ponytail.
Ryan brings MM some cake; MM wonders why he deserves such treatment, since Ryan hasn't, and I quote, "farted in [his] direction" over the last three years. Just couldn't resist that sexy mug any longer, Martin. Actually, Ryan wants to take advantage of their non-friendship to strike a business deal; he'd like MM to tell the warden that he saw Henry Stanton murder Keenan.
MM takes the bait and heads straight for Leo's office, where he tells his story -- complete with all of the shamrockian details -- as Leo looks grimly attentive and his over-eager assistant scribbles notes. Leo thanks him for his confession, and MM claims his conscience drove him to come forward as he leaves the office. Strange, muses Leo; usually we can't get anyone to talk, and now we have two witnesses fingering two perps for the same crime. Yes, agrees his assistant, and MM has so many more specific details than Arif. Why, it's almost like the person who committed the crime and was just re-questioned and is feeling a bit more pressure has fed information to someone else to try to take the heat off himself. It's so crazy it just might work! Especially since Leo has to be one of the most gullible wardens in history, which he proves by going full throttle after Stanton, who of course denies -- very plausibly if you ask me -- that he was involved. Except for the fact that he claims moral victory in a few scuffles where Keenan kicked his ass and seems like he's doing a bad Joe Pesci imitation (can there be any other kind when the source is so egregiously heinous?). Leo pulls out the Gloria Nathan article, and accuses Henry of being obsessed with el doctor. Nah, says Stanton, although she does have "nice tits and all," a sentiment that enflames Leo's sense of chivalry and inspires him to send Stanton to the hole, which is great, since we get to see him naked, which I've been fantasizing about ever since Henry arrived on the scene.
Arif flags Leo in the hall and asks when O'Reily will be charged; Leo, right where Ryan wants him, asks why Arif is so hell-bent on taking Ryan down. When Arif falls back on the old justice argument, Leo wonders if it might be a form of payback for a slight, and reminds Arif that he and Ryan almost came to blows during the riot (which, as Arif points out incredulously, was almost five years prior. Cons have long memories, says Leo). Anyway, he's not even sure he gives a crap about who did what or why. So there, Mr. Justice.
Dot-com guy lumbers over to tell Ryan (engrossed in a porn magazine) that the investigation into Keenan's murder has been suspended -- too many suspects, not enough clues. Dot-com thinks Ryan could press the issue and get Stanton convicted, but Ryan doesn't want that, since Dr. Nathan will feel compelled to tell the truth rather than let an innocent man fry, but if he can keep things in play, he'll divert suspicion from himself and leave everyone guessing. Our plucky criminal mastermind then instructs Dot-com to place the shamrock pendant in MM's cell -- as "life insurance." Cyril then wonders if they should tell Henry about how they fooled the warden, to which Ryan responds with a stream of invective that causes Cyril to ask him why he always yells "like Papa." Ugh.
Galileo, says Hill, all ponced up in more velveteen and some Princess Leia-like hairbuns, was jailed and forced to recount his theory that the earth revolves around the sun, rather than the generally accepted other way around. Few things suck more, he muses, than being forced to stand in public and disavow those things which one holds to be of deepest truth, as he tosses a big book into a sizzling fire for effect.
Though Mrs. Arif is quiet, Jewel isn't having any luck with her nap and continues to wail, while Annette puffs on a cigarette, all defiant and long-nailed. Father Mukada, smelling smoke, turns around and looks snippy, but doesn't bother to drag his sorry ass back and tell her to quit. Flash to Carrie, who's sewing something, and Jewel, who is completely silent (obvious consistency patrol slackage), and then Mrs. Hill (a.k.a. Eugenia) starts talking about how seeing the baby reminds her of her own Augustus. She muses about his very first steps, the inevitable what-ifs. Mrs. Arif maintains that Allah "guides our every step," and while Eugenia agrees that God is indeed strong, He can't stop her mind from wondering. She goes on about Augustus, his first suit, his first day of school, his wedding day to Annabella. Then she lost him to crack, although he's now been clean for three years. Eugenia is a bit worried on that front, however, as she's got some bad news; turns out that today, she must tell her son that his wife wants a divorce (she hopes to soften the impact by delivering the news in person). Annabella got a fella and now she wants her freedom; while Eugenia tried to talk her out of it, her mind is set. Then wise Mrs. Hill reveals that she's always blamed Annabella a bit for her son's downward spiral, as she was there the night he shot the cop, the night his spine was snapped; she should have taken better care of Augustus. Eugenia starts to cry (tears for her little emperor) but recovers herself quickly, and says that while her son is cooped up in a little cell, "half his body dead," all she can think about is his first step. This competent scene, by far the longest one of the episode (at almost four minutes), conjures the appropriate amount of emotional investment (through expert manipulation) necessary for the wave of death and destruction that is certainly about to visit the bus; Mrs. Hill makes a convincing subject for sympathy, even if she's doing the shop-worn, burdened-but-resolute strong black mother thing.
Back at the ranch, Redding says he never gets mail (in response to Hill's question) because no one ever sends him any (clever!); Poet rips up a donation solicitation from the United Negro College Fund, and Hill discovers that his wife wants out -- via a letter from a lawyer. Obviously shaken, Hill tries to downplay the news, saying it was not unexpected. Redding says that seven years is a long time for any girl to keep candle lit, which Hill knows, but thinks that, as they loved each other, she could have at least come to say goodbye. Poet wanders off with a supportive shoulder squeeze, and Redding tells Hill he'll survive this -- if he can survive Oz…Hill says that losing Annabella kind of destroys his last shred of hope, makes him feel like his entire life outside is gone.
Redding tells Hill that he and Dee (presumably his wife) were planning to divorce, but that he couldn't leave her once she got sick. Hill reacts with surprise, as he always thought that they were happy, but Redding says she loved vodka a little too much -- and more than him. You and Eugenia were the only real family I ever had, says Redding. Hill suggests that they visit Eugenia together when she comes, which provokes a surge of positive feeling (and reminiscences about Eugenia's sweet, sweet eyes). That seals it. She's definitely going to be among the dead. Redding takes the legal letter from Hill's hand and crumples it.
It's time. A long shot of the bus, accompanied by celestial voices and ethereal music, sets the mood for carnage. Mukada stands up to inform the passengers that they're almost to Oz, as the semi weaves dangerously across the double yellow lines (so the scene from earlier was actually a blue-tinted flash-forward). Doze, honk, swerve, roll. Roll. And roll. I can't stop thinking about The Sweet Hereafter, until Mukada pops out of the side of the bus (now the top of the bus) all bloody and soot-stained -- actually, he looks like someone drew all over his hand and face with Marks-a-Lots -- and ruins the moment. He survived, but may never again be asked to remove a purse from a baby's head.
Leo comes to deliver the bad news to the prisoners who've assembled for their visitors, but we can't hear what he's saying, since the heavenly choir is still belting it out, although the director has made sure we can see Leo mouth the words "traffic accident" as the gathered inmates suddenly become very attentive. As Leo begins to read the list of casualties (his voice now barely managing to break through the grating music -- which is beginning to seem like a diversionary tactic allowing the actors to avoid speaking during a difficult scene), the camera cuts to the faces of those who lost a loved one. Arif. Augustus Hill. Enrique Morales. Vern Schillinger (Carrie kicked, but Jewel survived, which makes Hank do a weird sort of laugh/cry as he sits down, overcome).
Hill lists some of the many figures who've "sat staring at the inside of prison walls: Socrates, Gandhi, Joan of Arc, even our Lord, Jesus Christ." I'd have liked to see Hill dressed as Joan of Arc, but sadly, dress-up time has ended and he's in his own clothes, although I am kind of into the fingerless black leather gloves. Boy George meets Tom of Finland. Anyhow, according to Hill, Jesus spent his last night on Earth with criminals and even invited a prisoner to join him in heaven. Jesus loved that criminal as much as he loved anyone, and it takes a lot to love a sinner, says Hill, but Jesus knew that the sinner "needs it all the more."
week: Looks like Alvarez gets shanked; McManus's frizzy blonde ex-wife shows up as liaison between Oz staff and Tiny Devlin's office; Pancamo's role in Hank Jr.'s death comes to light; Said gets saddled with the superhuman task of helping White; Beecher learns that Keller will be returning to Oz (yay!).