Dead Man Talking

I guess I always knew I'd end up here someday. I mean, it was bound to happen eventually, right? It's my night, it's my network, and God knows I'm guilty of whatever crime they sent me here for. But it's also my first day, and I'm still a little scared. So be gentle, okay?

Umwhy are you heating that paperclip?

Prisoner number 03A-722: Aaron "The Recapper." Convicted January 5, 2003. Sentence: Eight episodes. Up for parole only if Sars decides to fire me.

We open with the obligatory Augustus Interlude, made no less annoying by the fact that he's now speaking from beyond the grave. In fact, he's actually even more annoying (if such a thing is possible), because the only time I ever really liked the guy was when he was interacting with the other inmates. My sole consolation is the tiny giggle I manage from picturing his omnipresent blue-screen background box being offered as an option on the Fisher family coffin wall. Despite the fact that I'm still less than a single page into the recap, I've decided to take a break and nip out to Blockbuster so I can rent The Edge and watch that scene where he gets eaten by the bear a few times. Now THAT'S entertainment. When I return, Hill is reminding us all once again that Oz is "the name on the street for the Oswald State Correctional Facility, Level Four." He then goes on to set up the new season's main thematic departure, which is that we'll also be hearing narration from various other deceased inmates. This week it's Jefferson Keane, played by Leon, who ranks somewhere between Iman and Ronaldo on my list of least favorite single name celebrities. Oh, well. At least it's not Doug E. Doug.

Once the pretentiousness is out of the way, we fade immediately to the toolishness, as Officer Murphy meanders down the first of many improbably darkened hallways to find McManus painting some sort of giant blue crop circle on the gymnasium floor. One would assume this might soon lead to the arrival of various aliens and over-hyped suspense film directors who would then quickly cart Timbo off to a galaxy far, far away and serve him as an hors d'oeuvre, but alas, 'twas not meant to be. Timmy describes his masterpiece as a "meditative maze," but if you ask me it looks a lot more like a giant bull's-eye, presumably intended to making aiming easier when attempting to defecate into the mouth of an abusive pod-mate. Murphy mocks McManus much more gently than he deserves, and Timmy responds by blaming the whole idea on the grief he's suffered since the death of Augustus Hill. Murphy affords this revelation the derisive snort it warrants, and then proceeds to over-earnestly opine (complete with a zinger from the show's trusty Wa-Wa Pedal Of Irony) that without actual walls in the maze, "these dinks are just gonna step over the line." Oy. Two minutes in and I already miss Edie Falco almost as much as Tony does.

we go to McManus's office, where he reveals that Augustus has left behind a mysterious shoebox with instructions that it not be opened until six months after his death. Joining him for the unveiling are Said and Redding, and Redding and I engage in a quick but valiantly fought battle to see who can appear to be enjoying all this the least. It was close, but Redding pulled it out in the end. I'll get him time. You know what I like about this guy, by the way? He looks exactly like what would happen if Bill Cosby were ever to get hooked on crack. Sometimes when I watch the show, I like to mentally substitute the words "pudding pop" every time he says "tits." It's fun. You should try it. Timmy opens the box to find a cover letter (complete with voice-over) which explains that Augustus had a premonition about his own death, and decided to set down his memoirs and collected musings on a stack of legal pads that looks to be at least three inches thick. Heh. Leave it to McManus to have worse luck than Pandora. And can you really consider it a "premonition" when anyone with an IQ higher than Cyril's should have noticed that pretty much every single inmate in the entire history of Oz has already died in Em City? The most shocking thing about Hill is that he lasted as long as he did. Anyway, the letter also requests that Said and Redding read the manuscript and do whatever they think best with it. Which, if we're lucky, will involve them using it to wipe their asses. This particular subplot goes unmentioned for the remainder of the episode, so all you really need to know is that Redding refuses to participate, and Said cranks his Glare-O-Meter down to about a four and a half as he accepts his half of the stack.

Meanwhile, Morales is downstairs in the computer lab playing a video game that I'm shocked and embarrassed to be unable to identify. I think it's one of those cheesy Wal-Mart Deer Hunter titles, but even with the wonders of the TiVo pause button, I can't be sure of that. A fully recuperated (though no less wooden for his troubles) Chucky Pancamo arrives just in time to hear Morales deliver some exposition on the state of the drug trade in Oz. It seems Redding and his boys have backed off since Hill's death, but Morales worries that they might be plotting something.

Before they can get too deep into speculation, however, a fight breaks out in the common area, and everyone rushes over to watch. It's a couple of red-shirt extras doing the fighting, so you know we're not supposed to care about the actual fight itself. Instead, we notice Said noticing that Redding hasn't even left his pod, and appears to be taking no interest in the free show going on just outside. Heh. Only in Oz would not cheering for potential bloodshed be considered a symptom of depression. Said must have some Camden blood in him, because he seems genetically incapable of not sticking his nose in where it doesn't belong. He stomps into Crackhead Cosby's pod, and proceeds to deliver one of his now patented accusatory monologues. Said: "[Grumble. Grumble. Glower. Glare.]" Redding: "[Slur. Slur. Slush. Slur.]" Said: "[Glower. Glare.]" A suitably chastened Redding pulls on a loudly-colored sweater vest and shuffles off to take a lap through McManus's meditative maze.

And now comes Jefferson Keane's first real chance at handling his new narrator duties. The non-hip, non-squiggly font of introduction reminds us that he was executed by lethal injection a few seasons back, while Keane himself promises to explain "what happens after death. The afterlife." Yeah, yeah. We know. It's an electric word, it means forever, and that's a mighty long time. Blah blah blah. He also babbles about ancient Greeks and the river Styx and that time he bagged Madonna on the set of the "Like a Prayer" video. I'm just kidding about that last part. He does, however, assert that the Greeks understood that just dealing with the sheer trauma of everyday life was enough to earn a man eternal peace in the afterlife.

And speaking of "sheer trauma," here comes Officer Claire, strolling through solitary and announcing that all the inmates are up for review to return to the general population. She opens their peep holes one at a time, revealing Omar White, Schillinger, Penders, Alvarez, some random guy I don't remember, and finally Oz's still-reigning King Of The Body Fluids, Mr. Martinez. Damn. Is there anyone left in this prison who hasn't slept with Madonna? Where's Rick Fox when you really need him? Claire enters his cell, and the predictable sexual hijinx ensue, complete with Claire's statement that she felt like having "some Mexican food" and a number of wholly gratuitous grunts and moans on the soundtrack as the other prisoners listen in. Heh. I love Officer Claire. She's like the anti-Lauren, if such a thing is possible. In fact, if the day ever comes that I stoop so low as to write fan-fic, I can guarantee you it'll be a Schillinger/Claire story. You could do entire chapters with just the two of them arguing over who gets to be on top. ["Oh, gross. Convene the parole board. You're out of here." -- Sars]

Cut to Warden Glynn's office, where the staff is meeting to discuss who should be let out of solitary. Claire runs down the list of inmates, complete with flashbacks to how they all got into solitary in the first place. The highly-trained recapper in me feels compelled to point out that the show tried to get away with using footage of Schillinger raping Cyril here, when they're actually punishing him for Guenzel and Winthrop. One by one, the boys are brought into the office, but none of them seem even the least bit repentant. Omar White doesn't even say a single word, just runs his face through a series of tortured expressions. Heh. Good actor, lousy character. Claire insists on keeping her personal fuck-toy locked up where she has easy access to him, and the others bicker a bit about who should be let out.

Back in solitary, Claire comes to visit Omar, and informs him that he won't be going anywhere for a while. Because nothing overtly disgusting has happened in the last ninety seconds, we're now forced to endure several shots of Omar wiping his ass after a visit to the porcelain (or, in this case, stainless steel) throne. He reports that he hasn't been feeling well lately, but Claire, who is surprisingly tolerant and egalitarian for a sexual predator, orders him to strip anyway. I immediately begin swabbing my trusty skewer with alcohol in preparation for eye removal surgery at the mere thought of a Claire/Omar sex scene, but fortunately, my vision is spared by the sight of Omar losing his lunch all over Claire's shoes. Whew. Who'd have thought I'd ever be so grateful for vomit? Especially when it's so colorful and thick. It looks like Omar's been munching on some Jackson Pollock paintings in his spare time. Claire makes him wipe her shoes clean, and then we cut to the infirmary, where Dr. Nathan admits Omar for some tests.

Back in Glynn's office, it's announced that Alvarez is being released from solitary. Alvarez promises to behave, but says he can't control what his enemies might do. So, of course, we cut to Chico Guerra, right in the middle of a fight with yet another red-shirt extra. Boy, those extras are getting frisky this week, arent they? The fighters are pulled apart, and Guerra is shipped up to McManus's office, where he's told that Alvarez is coming back to Em City, and that any problems between them will end with Guerra himself getting shipped off to solitary. McManus now brings Alvarez into the office, and orders the two to engage in a touching, heartfelt reunion. They share a brief conversation in Spanish (Alvarez: "My cow has brown spots." Guerra: "This was funnier when Shack did it."), which is then followed by a handshake and a hug, much to the dismay of Morales, who watches from across the tier.

Later, after lights out, Morales and Guerra sit in their pod and discuss the day's events. Guerra admits to getting tired of dealing with all the violent "bullshit" he encounters in Oz, and Morales says he felt the same way after the death of his sister. "What happened to you?" wonders Guerra. "Oz happened," replies Morales. Bullshit. If Oz had happened, he'd be dead. And also probably raped.

Jefferson Keane pops up once again, this time to give some quick Cliffs Notes on Dante's Inferno. "Hell," he says, is a place where "sinners are tormented by a punishment that reflects their crime." I'm again forced to wonder what it was I did to land this particular recapping gig.

Oh, joy. Grumpy Old Cons. It's the morning, and Busmalis wakes up to find Rebadow still sulking in his bed. We quickly move to McManus's office, where Timmy delivers a few platitudes on grief that would make Pa Kent proud. Rebadow, however, is not moved, and explains that he's become consumed with the idea that the Rebadow name will die out now that his grandson is dead. A quick check of the Internet White Pages reveals that he actually has nothing to worry about, and also demonstrates that upstate New York is home to a disturbingly large percentage of this country's remaining Rebadows. It must be the proximity to Attica. Oh, and while we're off on a tangent, can someone please explain to me what that fucking string he wears around his neck is supposed to mean? I've never been able to figure that one out. In an effort to help take his mind off things, McManus agrees to transfer Rebadow's work assignment to the library.

And now, in one of those "only in Oz"-type coincidences, Leo just happens to be meeting with the new prison librarian, played (or should I say "overplayed") by Patti LuPone. McManus interrupts their conference, and despite the fact that Patti is precisely the sort of older, marginally attractive female authority figure Timmy is usually drawn to romantically, he manages to get through the entire two-minute scene without asking her out even once. Instead, he wonders why she would choose to leave a cushy job in Boston to work in a mean nasty prison like Oz. Patti offers up the requisite "if I could just save one inmate" explanation, and then adds "I'm from the North End. To me, 'no' only means 'try harder.'" Heh. I'm from Brookline. To me, "no" only means "offer them more money." McManus convinces her to give Rebadow a job, and the scene ends.

But our time with Patti does not, as we now see her in the library, awaiting her first customer. Not surprisingly, it turns out to be Rebadow. They banter for a bit, with several of the show's writing staff gathered in the background to assemble the giant telegraph unit they'll be using to foreshadow this plotline's outcome. Patti: "[Flirt. Flirt. Over-act. Flirt.]" Rebadow: ["Pretentious. Pretentious. Dewey decimal system. Overenunciate.]" Oy. Shut up, Rebadozzzzzzzzzzzze.

Yay! It's time for the O'Reily boys! Finally, an inmate I actually care about. Ryan brings Cyril his lunch on death row, and exposits that a new lawyer has been hired to try and overturn his death sentence. And if the sight of Ryan wasn't enough to warm the, uh, cockles of your heart, here comes Keller as well, acting like his usual jaunty self. The Favorite Character Reunion Hour then reaches a climax with the death row arrival of Timmy Kirk, who gets escorted to his new home across the hall from Jaz Hoyt. Jaz calls him a "cocksucker," which makes me giggle, and then Ryan and Keller stand by and giggle while Timmy explains that he's Satan incarnate, and thus immortal. Oh, you shouldn't have said that, Timmy. Now you'll probably be dead before the third episode.

To once again hammer home the eternal dichotomy between good and evil, we now cut to Sister Pete and Father Mukada, who is just returning to active duty after the fire Kirk arranged last season. Sister Pete warmly welcomes him, and then reveals that Kirk is back in Oz, and has requested an audience with the good Father. Mukada refuses to even consider such an idea, even though anyone who's ever watched this show even once in their lives knows that the scene will be him going to visit death row.

And yep, there he is. Mukada looks nervous as he walks up to Timmy's cell, and his anxiety probably isn't helped when Keller loudly announces that there's a "holy ghost on deck." We also get a brief moment with Cyril and the velvety vocal stylings of his pal Jericho, but that particular storyline won't matter for another few minutes. Mukada steps up to Timmy's cell, and Kirk quickly tries to claim that he's been possessed by Satan and needs an exorcism. Mukada announces that he can see right through Timmy's act, and that he has no desire to help the guy set up an insanity defense for his appeal. He storms off down the hallway, but a deep-voiced plea from "Satan" stops him in his tracks. "You can walk away," breathes Kirk, "but I'm not like Reverend Cloutier. I won't just disappear. Also, your mother sucks cocks in Hell. And I can smell your cunt."

Back in his office, Mukada rants to Sister Pete about the nature of evil. For the like nine trillionth time in the two dozen or so episodes of this show I've seen, she gives him a "buck up little camper" speech about the all-redeeming power of God's love. I fast-forward just far enough to get to the part where Mukada's boss, a monsignor from the diocese, comes by to have a little chat with him. Sister Pete departs, and the monsignor gets right to the point. It seems Timmy has sent a letter to the local cardinal, claiming that Mukada sexually abused him. And of course, in these "dicey times" we live in, the Church can't afford to have any more scandals, so Mukada is being placed on suspension until an investigation is completed. Oh, please. Even though I know this is Oz, this suspension is the one thing I just can't suspend my disbelief for. You'd think in such "dicey times," the Church would be thrilled to have so obvious a false allegation to parade before the world. The guy is on death row for the murder of (at least) two priests, for Christ's sake. Sigh. Whatever.

This segment of the show has been brought to you by Tim Kirk and the Gideons, who would like to remind you that only you can prevent CGI Bible fires. Fade to black.

We fade back up on Leo and Betty Buckley, discussing her plans for putting on a play there in Oz. "I'd like to do more with the inmates than just singing and dancing," she says, which is a sentiment Jia Kenmin would no doubt agree with. Betty suggests doing Macbeth, and I'm frankly shocked that the AOL Time Warner execs didn't mandate that they attempt to show up rival studio Miramax by staging an in-house production of Chicago. If nothing else, at least Oz is our last remaining free bastion against the encroachment of the evil product placement. I haven't seen so much as a single can of Coke since the show started.

Leo reluctantly consents, and we see McManus exhorting the Em City inmates to participate in the play. He manages to sign Alvarez up to be a stage manager, and then we cut to the auditions, where Poet is mangling a passage featuring the three witches. To me, Poet will always be the anti-Hill. I used to love his poems in the first season, but I always hated him as an actual inmate. I'm glad to see some things never change. Ryan and Father Meehan wander into the auditions, and Betty pleads with her son to play the part of Macbeth. He refuses, prompting Alvarez to deliver the line of the night: "What, you got no balls, O'Whitey?" Heh. Father Meehan interjects that he once played Macbeth at the C.Y.O., and then launches into a horribly over-acted rendition of Macbeth's speech to the witches. Not only does he forget a few lines, but he also manages to out-Shatner even Shatner himself with the inappropriately timed dramaticpauses. It's actually pretty funny. Everyone just stares at him in bemused disgust, with Alvarez's "who farted?" expression clearly the best of the bunch.

Later that night, Ryan and Meehan prepare for bed, with the elder once again trying to convert the younger. "It would give me profound joy if someday you joined me in prayer," sighs Salty Evangelista. "Yeah well, it would give me profound joy to fuck an eighteen-year-old virgin," replies Ryan. Heh. Father Meehan casts his eyes towards heaven and mutters "ooh, naughty" before climbing into bed. Hee! I normally hate Father Meehan, but he's really starting to grow on me here. I sure hope everything comes out okay for this guy.

It's lights-out on death row as well, but Keller is roused from his bed by the sound of Jericho pontificating in his cell about how Cyril is the center of the known universe. I still don't know what to make of this whole sock-puppet/split-personality thing Cyril has going, but I do know that the sight of a tube sock with two glued-on buttons for eyes asking Keller, "What the fuck are you looking at?" is the funniest thing you'll ever see on death row. With the possible exception of Tom Hanks, that is.

The day, Ryan meets with his new fancy-pants lawyer, who exposits that Cyril can't be considered mentally retarded because his injury didn't occur until after he was eighteen. Um, okay. I'm just going to assume that little tidbit is part of the lesser known Plot-Device Amendment to the USA Patriot Act and not give it a second thought. This means, of course, that Cyril can still be executed for killing Li Chen. Fancy Pants announces that their new course of action will be to prove that Chen's murder wasn't premeditated, and that all they need to succeed is a single witness.

Okay, seriously. Whose kid is it that they let direct these second-unit crime flashbacks? Tom Fontana's? Chris Albrecht's? It's got to be someone's, because they're consistently the most hideously awful portion of the show. I mean, I could buy the uber-cheesy digital video camcorder effects as some sort of artistic statement about the banality of crime, but the production values are so routinely awful, and the crimes themselves so mind-numbingly stupid, that more often than not I find myself checking the remote to see if I've accidentally flipped over to a cable access channel. For God's sake, Glenn Shupe killed a guy by throwing a dart at his head this week. What the fuck is that? And somebody turn off that friggin' green filter while we're at it. This ain't the Matrix, you know.

Back in Oz, Shupe leans against the phone and dials with his one remaining hand. He looks saddened by his disability, but with hair like his, and that tie-dyed shirt he's wearing, I foresee a long and profitable career as the new drummer for Def Leppard after his release. Ryan, however, has other ideas, and he shows up to threaten Shupe into cooperating with Cyril's attorney. Which Shupe promptly does, telling the guy that Cyril was only acting to save his brother's life.