So, apparently ten to twenty million men suffer from impotence, which is really a huge bummer for them. That's also quite a range -- understandable, I'm thinking, because it's probably not something a lot of guys want to discuss publicly. But let's have a moment of thanks for Pfizer, who started stopping the shame with Viagra, erectile dysfunction, and Bob Dole talking about his other limp appendage. America just keeps getting better and better.
That's just one of the alarming numbers Hill throws out during this, his final Season Five opening monologue. Red numbers, all Family Feud-strike-style, underscore Hill's discussion of the causes of flaccidity, which range from the non-penile physical to the psychological to -- and here's the spookeliest part -- the completely unknown.
An uncut schlong metaphorically disappears into a pair of pants -- it's Robson's, and he's metaphorically leaving solitary. Back in Unit B, the Aryans respond to his affable greeting with a junior-high-style table exodus; Robson realizes what's afoot and begs Schillinger not to abandon him. Look, tainted one, says Schillinger, I'm just following orders, because in this world, thinking for oneself is just too damn hard. Besides, it's all about Creed, and since you're all about hip-hop now, instead of constipated God-fearing white boys, you've got to go. Capiche? Robson insists that Feradj told him that his gums are white, but Schillinger guesses from the big-ass beauty mark that Feradj left on Robson's cheek that he's not telling the truth. In a final blow, Schillinger tells Gumby that he'll be moving to a new cell come the morrow.
So Robson goes to the library to lose himself in literature. The Backstreet Muslims enter, and Arif begins teasing Robson before Said reins him in. Then "Better Man" Said tells Robson that, "despite all you done, my heart goes out to you." He explains that Allah is trying to teach Robson a lesson, and hopes he's smart enough to learn it. Robson stands, glares, and opines that the lesson is that his friends will take him back. Because he'll make them.
Apparently, making them involves "a shitload of tits." Robson approaches Poet -- who calls him "my stepbrother" (hee) -- in the cafeteria and makes the deal. That night, as Schillinger sleeps below him, Robson rubs the white powder all over his gums (stupid), jumps off the bunk (elegant), pulls a shiv from under the mirror tray (daring), stares at his grayish-brown gums in the mirror (gross), and then begins slicing at them. Okay, that's the grossest thing I've ever seen on this show. Who'd have thought, really, with all the other puke-inducing things, that Robson's mouth would be, hands down, the worst offender? The world really is full of surprises. I'm literally cringing in disgust as Robson collapses on the floor, blood dripping from his mouth, and screams his dumb-as-a-rock head off in complete and utter pain.
Hill, on the floor to his wheelchair, demonstrates The Impotent Conundrum. Attempting (and failing) to pull himself into his chair, he explains that some folks can't get it up because they don't get it up. And so on and so forth, as the camera zigs and zooms and Hill keeps can't-ing and don't-ing and then yells for help because he "can't get it up." That was just stupid.
In Leo's office, McManus reveals that Alvarez is up for parole again. Leo thinks he's got no chance, but McMuffin thinks Alvarez is a changed man. He's even going to write a letter on Alvarez's behalf. Miss Dog will as well. And, says McManus, Mukada would do the same thing. If he weren't away on the touring production of Evita. Oh, really, says Leo, because "six months ago the dink was in solitary smearing shit on his cell wall." McManus clearly doesn't want fact to intrude on fantasy, so he ignores Leo's well-made point and instead attributes Leo's party-pooping attitude to "bad blood." In another well-made point, Leo says, "Fuck you." Undeterred, McManus urges Leo to talk to Alvarez, "not warden to prisoner, but man to man." After vomiting all over his desk, Leo tells McManus to scram.
Alvarez thanks McManus for arranging the parole hearing as he cleans up his laundry. McManus explains that parole hearings aren't always easy, but Alvarez brushes off the advice and fantasizes about being free, since he knows he will be, hooking up with his lady (who's also apparently a criminal) and perhaps having a baby. Now that's a zany sitcom I'd like to see -- I Love Parole, about Alvarez and his woman trying to make it in today's crazy world. Get me Lea Thompson! I'm so glad to know for sure that soon Alvarez will be able to put his experience in Oz behind him and have a normal life.
There's a rave in Em City, as the COs speedwalk around, waving flashlights. More swervy, swoopy cameras; more edge, more pathos. Just more. In his cell, Alvarez practices answering basic questions like "Aren't you the third-generation Oz inmate in your family?"
Clap on -- the lights come up for morning line-up. Alvarez takes lots of ribbing for his boyish jacket and rep tie before Guerra and a go-go dancer sidle up and begin tormenting him, threatening his chica with an accident. Alvarez gets very serious and says he'll Really And Truly Kill Guerra if anything happens to the petite flower, but I'm not worried, because Alvarez will be out of prison in plenty of time to protect her from harm.
After Alvarez's opening remarks, the parole management firm of Blazer, Blazer & Pantsuit begins the real hearing. Alvarez kindly gives them permission to ask him whatever they want. Each board member tackles a different Alvarez incident in a manner meant to rankle (and rankle it does) -- the culmination being the probing question, "What the fuck makes you think we should set you free, you little prick?" Of course, "Why Yes, I Do Have Rage Management Issues" Alvarez lunges for the offending questioner, which triggers a Madonna-style retrospective of Alvarez in action. As Alvarez is led into solitary, bitching and moaning, McManus stands and glares, clearly disappointed, looking very stern. Then Kirk starts pleading. Then Cyril. Then Stanton. Then Penders. Then Martinez. McManus, overwhelmed by the outpouring of support, puts his hands to his ears, yells, "Calgon, take me away!" and walks out as the pleading swells to a roar.
From McManus's failures to Gloria's -- she's standing over Pancamo's almost-dead husk, sucking her thumb and trying to look like she cares. McManus walks in, lured by the aroma of self-pity, and gushes about how Gloria owes him a drink and he really needs a drink and is she ready to go have a drink because did he mention he'd like a drink? Gloria decides that she'd rather gaze longingly at someone who doesn't know she's in the room than have a drink with McManus, which I think is the right decision. McManus tries to banter. Gloria really wants to wallow, and to explain why she's wallowing, but will settle for a cup of coffee. They curl up and get comfortable in a bland office, and McManus asks if Gloria has yet had the pleasure of meeting his wife, uh, his ex-wife. Nunca, says G.Na. Well, says "I Love A Pity Party" McManus, the ex wouldn't up-end her life to follow my own personal Very Important Dreams, so I, of course, bailed on her ass. But I feel so guilty, and it feels so bad, and why do I have to suffer so, and what if? Gloria moans, "Don't talk to me about regret, I own the patent," and then McManus interrupts, because he does have a point, really, and he's going in a direction, really. After marching in the parade of failures in solitary that afternoon, McManus consoled himself by thinking about Omar White, who they did -- really, really -- turn around. They saved him. And that one life makes everything worth it. And the timer on the bomb of Omar White's meltdown begins ticking away.
Whew, says McManus, I feel better now that I've unloaded all over you, Gloria. Now that I've introduced our vignette, I'm going to wrap up this 45-second "cup of coffee" with a kiss and go get hammered while you stare at the Italian.
Crimetime. So there's a guy who's been buried up to his neck, and there's this amped-up-looking biker guy in a Darth Vader motorcycle helmet, and there's a giant swine standing and yelling to the biker guy, and then the biker guy runs right over the buried guy's head, and there's a wet crunching sound. As gross as that is, Robson's mouth is grosser.
Biker Guy is Wolfgang Cutler, and he's one mean dude.
Wolfgang Cutler wants into the Brotherhood. He says so in the gym. Schillinger, pecs dancing, tells Wolfgang Cutler that fearlessness must be shown. Fearlessness to kill the dusky. Franklin's posing against the chain link fence like Kim Wilde. Wolfgang suggests Said; Schillinger approves in a non-self-implicating way. An undercover Gavin Rossdale, transformed with spectacles, overhears and races off to tell Omar, asleep under a book, the shocking news. Omar's eyes dart, and the countdown accelerates. Omar confronts Cutler in the mailroom, but Cutler denies the plot. Omar communicates in the strange language that only he understands and warns Cutler, "Don't make me angry -- you won't like me when I'm angry." Cutler postures, and Omar flips to the tune of two headbutts, a headlock, and lots of "fucks," which reduces the cursing Cutler to a non-breathing, death-like state. Omar, terrified of his own bad self, administers mouth-to-mouth and revives Cutler before scurrying off to tell Said.
Said, after managing to calm Omar down enough to figure out what the fuck's happening, says, "You follow me, you do not stop," which is perhaps a gentle reminder to Arif, and strides out of the pod, posse in tow. Said needs theme music. The gang heads straight for McManus, where what must have been a full confession provokes everyone's least favorite do-gooder into a spitting fury. As Ellie watches from the couch, McManus confronts his crushing failure with rage before deciding to "[play] by the rulebook" for the first time in his life, and he ships Omar off, despite Said's protestations, to solitary.
In the hall, McManus assures Ellie that his outburst wasn't for her benefit. Because he knows she's so obsessed with him that she thinks everything he does is all about her. As she signs out at the front desk, she decides that this would be a great time to tell McManus, and selected eavesdropping staff members, why she really divorced him. Wasn't Em City, she reveals. It was, she rails, switching her face into monologue contortion gear, because you're a cloying, self-centered, maudlin, deluded, puffed-up idealist who thinks that saving the world means transforming everyone into exactly what you want them to be. Looks like Ellie's got a number, and I think it's Tim's.
Said leans against his pod window, moping. Arif suggests that he stop moping, which is akin to recommending that someone stop eating.
In solitary, someone sings "Amazing Grace" (heh -- due to a typo, my computer just tried to change that to "Asthmatic Grace") at full volume, while Omar goes insane, also at full volume. Let's just say he looks like Juliette Lewis in that Melissa Etheridge video, and that's not a good thing.
Hill talks some more about impotence. While the theme of this episode is actually working for me, with interesting connections between penile and other sorts of powerlessness, Hill's monologues are too cutesy and gesticulated. And please stop swinging the fucking camera. You might hit someone with that thing.
Busmalis, as is his wont, does some stupid hand routine. Crap. It's Rebadow. My entire body stiffens. Objective: get through this segment as fast as possible. Strategy: pray for Rebadow's sudden demise. Little Alex is on his deathbed. Busmalis tells Rebadow to ask for permission to visit. After Rebadow suggests gag-inclusive bondage, McManus gives permission. Rebadow leaves, looking sweet, old, and harmless in orange and black (go Tigers!), telling Murphy ["who looks eloquently and utterly bored -- shout out?" -- Sars] on the way out that his death sentence was commuted to life due to a power outage at the moment of electrocution, and wishing aloud that there were similar laws that would help save his grandson. Oh, eat me. Rebadow speaks of God in reverent tones as he steps out into the bright white light. Perhaps the fog will create hazardous driving conditions that will cause…no, I can't let myself hope.
Miss Sally does the fat-burning Slut Locomotive as Busmalis drools. Schillinger hands him a perfume-stinky letter. It's from Norma. Busmalis asks inmate Fiona, played with gender-bending realness by Rosie O'Donnell, to read the letter, as her dulcet tones will conjure a feeling of Norma's presence. Seems Norma's coming to visit to explain why she stood him up at the altar. On the fifteenth. Today's the fifteenth. Busmalis jumps through a few mental hoops and figures out that, oh my God, Norma's coming to visit today. Norma visits. Norma stands up. Norma's excessively pregnant. Busmalis is a virgin. Do the math along with Busmalis. Norma gets dissed as Busmalis turns and silently walks out of the room.
Rebadow back. Alex sick. Rebadow tired. Rebadow sit. Rebadow stare. Rebadow hold shoe.
The day, Rebadow explains that he's "on the death watch," which means folding with a perfect hand at cards, sitting idly as a fight rages around him, tapping listlessly on a punching bag, picking at his food, and staring into space. A storm rages, The Power Outage Of Overblown Symbolism causes momentary darkness, and Rebadow knows that Little Alex is no more. Balloons fall from the ceiling.
Morning. McManus rolls the loogie of Alex's death around in his mouth, savoring it, typically unable to spit it out. Blah blah power outage blah blah dead. Rebadow, realizing that his defining cause has disappeared, goes all Edvard Munch and hits the floor, rolling around like Emmanuel Lewis in the "Stop Drop and Roll" project. Or was that "No, Go, Tell?" His Royal McPussness calls for help. Rebadow, subdued, returns to his pod and says something about how preparation for death is actually hope for a miracle, and how death is, like, really really sad. And how last night the lights that went out thirty years ago came back on to finish the job. But Alex was the one in the chair. Yes, that would be The Power Outage Of Overblown Symbolism, careening past the obvious and right into the completely ridiculous. I think Busmalis might have farted. Rebadow pulls -- and claims to now understand -- a piece of red, propellered Adventure Country headgear from his footlocker. For Rebadow, the hat represents Alex at his most alive. As the youngest Shriner ever.
McManus and Murphy get drunk in McManus's office. They bemoan Rebadow's luck. McManus says he's going to let Rebadow go to the funeral. In walks Dave Brass. Wearing a muumuu. He's going to give Rebadow the money. To save his grandson. McManus and Murphy look awkward and afraid as The Towering Giantess Of Irony comes to crush them all into tiny, worthless rubble.
Hill. Camera spinning wildly out of control around his pod. Hill pivots wildly, trying to keep up with this camera. Viagra, whoosh. Young men, whoosh. Use it to stay hard, whoosh. Problems, whoosh. Erections that last longer than six hours cut off blood supply, whoosh. Whatever, whoosh.
Guenzel hanging from the fence in flashback. Beecher gets a visit from his mother. Both forms of castration. Get it? Good. If Beecher got a perm, he'd have the exact same hair as his mother. And he'd look like Weird Al Yankovic. Mother Beecher went to Guenzel's funeral, and saw Olivia Guenzel looking shriveled, and felt sad, as Olivia Guenzel was one of the few sympathetic parties after Beecher's arrest. When she hugged Olivia, says Mother Beecher, she grabbed her ass. Well, not really, but she had some human but guilt-inducing thought that reveals a lot about Beecher's own self-immolating tendencies. Then she pulls out a valentine from Beecher's daughter. Beecher radiates guilt.
Guilt that drives him to Franklin, to offer help and to explain that Franklin doesn't have to endure Schillinger's naughty caresses. "Like you helped Adam Guenzel?" asks Franklin, who won't pull his own weight in the Beecher redemption scheme. Finally, under searing pressure from inside his head, Beecher cracks. In an interaction with Pete. Said wants to hear what Beecher has to say; Schillinger warns Beecher to not say it. Pete, however, finally sees a way into the salacious details and brooks no dissent as she shoos Schillinger and Said out of the room, intent on slaking her thirst for knowledge. We're spared the sharing, thankfully, and zoom straight to Leo explaining to Schillinger that he's been tried by a rainbow coalition of his peers and found guilty of a "fuck and fry" regarding Adam Guenzel. And that he'll be exploring new real estate options in solitary. "Nice color," says Vern of his new home as the door swings shut.
Keller, shirt open, tie undone, returns to his cell. Pete swings out of the shadows to ask about his trial. Found guilty. The shirt comes off. Pete sighs. As good as dead. The pants come off, and Keller's doing a freeball -- no panties! Pete suddenly snaps to, eyes riveted to Keller's impressive plumbing, swaying free for all of us to enjoy. The potential sexiness of the scene evaporates when Keller says, "Show me your tits." Were that to happen, it might just eclipse Robson's mouth. She tells him to stop it with the nastiness; he pleads that a bad mood, prior control of penis, and his simple but unrealized desire to share his love with another person have led to inappropriate boundaries. "Im-po-tence," whispers The Power Outage Of Overblown Symbolism, straining to return and plunge everyone into darkness even deeper than the metaphorical stuff that surrounds this show like a fog. Keller, now clothed and retreating deeper into his "I'm Sexy, Dark And Intense" costume, says he wants to die by electric chair. "I want the juice," he hisses, "I want to go out on a charge." Pete looks like she wants another glance at Keller's dong.
Generic Newscaster reveals that Keller was convicted of murdering Brice Tibbetts. And sodomizing him. And torturing him. Beecher gasps, fantasizing about sodomy and torture, and rushes off to find Keller. "Tobias Beecher You Stop Right Now Or Risk Eternal Hellfire And Never-Ending Guilt" Said follows him, and gets all huffy when Beecher won't refuse to see Keller. Beecher, rather than defending his choice, decides to defend love, and castigates Said for trying to smother love. Because love does not occur here in Oz very often, we must treat it like a flower and allow it to bloom, explains Deepak Beecher. After all, says Beecher, "we love each other," and Said jumps back like Beecher just tickled his ass with a feather. Then there's a theology debate, and an oblique comparison of gay sex and interracial fraternization, and Said capitulates -- sort of -- to Beecher's global lovetry. Beecher talks about not fucking Keller, but simply showing that he cares, and then runs off to fuck him.
A CO, who I believe was attacked by Chester The Wonderdog last week but is looking hunky-dory now, escorts Keller to his new death-row home -- the former cell of Shirley Bellinger and her smelly "vagina." Vagina? For all the punch that line carries, the CO might as well have called it her "tootie." This guy needs lessons in vulgarity.
Beecher pushes his mail cart as fast as the wind. And here it is. The reunion. That we've waited for. So long that I, for one, no longer give a shit. And what does Beecher say? "You've got mail." Or is it, "You've got male?" Whatever it is, it's really special and smart. They kiss. And it's a good kiss, all mushy lips and darting tongues.
Many illnesses can make your dick break, says Hill. So can riding your bike, says Hill, as the camera swoops into his crotch. So can overly ambitious camera tricks, I say.
Officer Vagina opens the door to Cyril's cell, where Cyril's having an intimate conversation with Jericho. Vag tells Cyril to leave the puppet before cuffing him. Keller. Hoyt. Death row. Cyril doesn't think he's supposed to be there, and then completely loses his shit, slamming Vagina with his cuffs, headbutting another CO, swinging his arms and screaming, as Keller eggs him on.
In the psych office, Leo fills Ryan in on the details of the outburst; Gloria explains that she gave Cyril some Haldol and reminds him that drugs are only a temporary solution. Pete fills out the background in celadon. Yeah, well, "we don't need a long-term solution," says Leo, since I Am Sam's heading for death month. The reality of Cyril's bye-bye suddenly hits Ryan, as Leo brings up the need to discuss Cyril's preferred method of execution. "Lethal injection," says Ryan, so he can just go to sleep. Not so simple, says Gloria, but Ryan isn't interested in details. Not so fast, interjects Pete. "Up to this point, you've resisted all our attempts to help your brother," snaps Sister Sanctimony. "You should know what his last moments will be like." O'Reily can visit The Other Sister once the latter chills. Speaking of The Other Sister, how the motherfuck did that movie get made? Did I already ask this? Because it's a question that haunts me.
Rita Moreno and Betty Buckley are on television, promoting the Auswahlde Players production of What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?, starring them. And talking about Cyril, whose IQ of fifty-one stands as one of the lowest of any condemned prisoner. It also qualifies him for a limitless field of high-paying careers in management. Ryan stands and leaves his front-row seat, stopping to inform The Father Of Spunk that no amount of press conferences will save Cyril. Salty says something pithy yet uplifting about the power of prayer that sounds for all the world to me like fingers scraping across a chalkboard. Ryan responds, "While you're at it, why don't you suck my dick?" Crusty McPooter purses his lips to show that he thinks a quick nip at the staff of life might be quite a lark, indeed.
At the piano, Suzanne drowns the futility of her life in a bad song. Salty prances in, puts on a show, and demands to know the intimate details of Ryan's life. Because he's a priest, Suzanne wants to help. But -- oops! -- she abandoned Ryan when he was, like, an hour old, and has only resurfaced recently, and she's focused less on actually getting to know her son than on a lost cause for someone who isn't her son. Oh, gosh, that's okay, says Salty. Could you just point me to someone else in the family who'd be willing to unearth all the sordid details of Ryan's unhappy life to a meddling man of God? But of course, says Betty Buckley. Try calling his aunt Brenda -- she's got the loosest lips this side of the Mississippi. And squawk she does -- just listen to the triumphant swagger of Salty's "yes, we're doing everything we can for Cyril" before he hangs up the phone.
Salty trots back to the pod to test his newfound knowledge. "Tell me about Carolyn," he says. Carolyn O'Reily, Ryan's little sister. Carolyn O'Reily, dead girl. Oh, my. Oh, dear. Ryan wants know who told him about Carolyn, but Salty says, "Oh, that doesn't matter. Just tell me your memory of her." And then lightning strikes Salty for being such a pompous ass. Ryan refuses, which also doesn't matter, because Salty already got all the grisly details from Aunt Brenda. Fell out of a crib at six months old, broke her neck, and died. Ryan wants to know why Salty's doing this, and Salty replies that, in addition to finding joy in rubbing other's noses in the worst moments of suffering they've ever experienced, "I've seen how you love your brother, how you're protective of him, yet you're willing to let him die." Why, oh why, will you let him die? Oh, why? Catholic advertising about the swell afterlife worked, says Ryan, but Salty's relentless. Wants to know if Ryan feels responsible, had anything to do with it. Ryan doesn't want to talk, but Salty keeps pushing and pushing and pushing until Ryan finally pops him in the face and starts sobbing as I burst forth with a joyful yelp. And still Salty McPunched refuses to cease. He grabs Ryan's leg before pulling him into his soft belly for a hug. Ryan sobs that he told a priest the truth, but that the priest didn't believe him, BECAUSE PRIESTS HAVE NEVER BEEN THERE FOR HIM BUT NOW ONE IS AND I'M LETTING HIM IN SO EVERYTHING WILL CHANGE.
The elder O'Reily, a real teddy bear of a guy, seems really excited about the media attention he's gotten from Cyril's trial, since it might get him laid, and because he is Crass and Shallow and A Bad Father. The New Ryan wants his father to tell Cyril he loves him, and wonders if the words "I love you" have ever crossed the man's lips. The New Ryan also wants to talk about Carolyn and his father's role in her death. Seems Carolyn had a set of pipes, and spent the majority of the day she died crying, and Pops O'Reily was real drunk. Pops jumps up and spits, "Fuck you," and Ryan tells him to sit own or he'll finish telling his story to a cop. That works. Then Ryan reminds Pops that he started shaking the little girl. And shaking her. And shaking her. Until she stopped crying and went limp. Gee, it's funny you should say that, says Pops, because the way I see it, "she fell out of her crib." Ryan ain't buying, which encourages Pops to take a quick trip to Victim City -- he was abused too, and abuse is like a chain letter, since no one wants it but you feel pressure to pass it along to friends and family nonetheless. So back off with the shakey-shakeys, 'cause you don't know crap. I'll never tell, says Ryan, but then advises his father to "pray to Jesus Christ Almighty Himself that I never get out of this place, 'cause when I do, I'll kill you." Nice work, Dean Winters. That was a genuine threat. Pops looks like he knows it, too.
Pete brings Jericho to Cyril, which makes him happy. As she leaves, Ryan stops her to confide that he's changed his tune and will now do anything he can to save Cyril. Well, zippidee-do-da-day. Ryan then visits Cyril, and they love each other, and the trumpets swell, and then they activate their Wonder Twin powers, which engulfs Hill in smoke.
Oh, never mind, it's a monologue. Drugs cause impotence. Smoking causes impotence, which I already know from those droopy cigarette anti-smoking ads. It causes penile artery clogs. Ew.
Hill's leaving the infirmary, but he's not out of those woods yet. Gloria threatens to clean out his catheter herself if she hears of hygiene neglect, and then they both chuckle awkwardly when they realize what she's just said. Back in Hill's pod, Poet grovels for a minute before Hill tells him to get to the point, so Poet pretty much begs Hill to stay quiet about where he got the drugs. Since, to cover his ass, Poet sacrificed DeSanto and the treaty with the Latinos, and he doesn't really want the truth circulating at this late date. No worries, says Hill, "I won’t rat you out." He's taking responsibility for his own choices, so the buck stops right there. Poet thanks him and says that if he, Poet, were a girl, then he, Hill, would be getting some tongue. Hill says, "If you was a girl, you'd be butt-ass ugly." That's so funny. And so true. I just laughed out loud.
Redding and Morales engage in a staring contest as they leave solitary. McManus lowers his office shades as he expresses a desire to get the truth, even as he knows that he won't get it. So he'll settle for a nonviolence pact. Morales agrees. "Johnny Appleseed" Redding agrees, lamely. Morales leaves, and McManus asks Redding to confirm that Morales supplied the drugs to Hill. Maybe, says Redding, but I just can't be sure. McManus wants to know who it was, and Redding assures him that Hill will cough up the full story in short order.
In the common area, Redding and Hill hug as Morales negotiates with the Sicilians on the Lido Deck. For Redding's half of the drug trade -- and ten percent of Morales's -- the Sicilians will be willing to forgive Morales's indiscretion with Redding. Great, says Morales; I just ask one thing: "You kill Redding." Frankie the Fixer, Pancamo's heir apparent, says that he would love to. In a pod, Redding and Hill share an Afterschool Special moment. Redding explains that, after he was done lashing out in anger at others after Hill's relapse, he realized that he was really angry with himself, since he got Hill strung out in the first place, while he sat in Hill's father's chair and ate Hill's mother's food. He did it because he wanted to keep Hill dependent on him, because he was afraid of losing Hill, and now he feels so guilty. And he almost did the thing that he was most afraid of. "You didn't never need no drugs to keep me close you, man," says Hill. "I always loved you. Always." Redding suddenly realizes that he's sniffling like an old woman and jumps up to leave, lesson learned and moment over.
As they leave the pod, Frankie the Fixer races up to waste Redding, but Hill sees what's happening and throws himself on Frankie. Frankie stabs Hill and drops him to the floor, as a gaggle of inmates and a few COs race toward the hubbub. Mayhem ensues as Hill lies bleeding. Redding makes his way to Hill and begins dragging him across the floor, screaming for a doctor, as Murphy pulls him away and McManus runs through the fracas. As he crouches down, Hill, blood streaked across his face, says, "I can feel my legs," rolls his eyes and, presumably, dies. McManus chokes back sobs, powerless once again as he's confronted with yet another failure of his lifelong dream.
The camera cuts to an empty wheelchair in an empty pod and pulls back to reveal an empty common area, silence where the sounds of Hill's closing monologue should be. That was a really powerful and moving ending to a rather spotty and anti-climactic season. Wonder what that means for the future of narration on Oz. Perhaps Hill left to host the reality show When Prisons Attack.
So thanks for enduring this eight-episode rollercoaster with me -- we had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun. Oh, I may see you again some day, 'round that old forum campfire, but until then, keep your feet on the ground, and keep reaching for the stars.