Chuck gave this episode a grade of
C
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B
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 overnightoh, 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.
“ Mukada pops out of the side of the bus (now the top of the bus) all bloody and soot-stained and ruins the moment. He survived, but may never again be asked to remove a purse from a baby's head. ”
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 OzHill 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).
Visitation
“ Boy George meets Tom of Finland. ”
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!).