So, has that shot of a big, giant ass always been in the opening credits? For God's sake people -- that's no moon, that's a space station!
We fade up on the long-deceased Eugene Dobbins, banging out a lovely little ditty on his cello in Hill's God Pod. Unfortunately, even my father -- a man who steadfastly refuses to listen to any music composed after the year 1811 -- was unable to identify the piece he's performing. So I'm just going to assume that it's the episode's titular sonata. Why? Because "titular" is fun to say. And also because it makes me wonder if maybe that shouldn't be "pudding pop-ular" instead. Anyway, as a super-special added double-mega-bonus this week, Hill doesn't even get to speak his own lines. Woo hoo! Instead, he just quotes various literary figures speaking (with the forged strength of a thousand metaphorical anvils) about the power of music. In response, and as a way of thanking the writers for this bountiful blessing they've bestowed upon us, I'll be peppering the recap with the famous last words of executed criminals, speaking (with the finely-honed wit of a tempered steel sword) about the events of this episode. First up?
Augustus Hill: "If music be the food of love, play on." -- William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night: Act I, Scene i
Aaron: "You are going to hurt me, please don't hurt me, just one more moment, I beg you!" -- Madame du Barry, mistress to Louis XV. Guillotined, December 8, 1793.
And speaking of the food of love, here's Beecher and Keller, munching on each other's tongues. Mmm, tasty! They're macking (execution-style) in Keller's death row cell when Lopresti comes over to hassle them about the differences between a "farewell conversation" and a farewell tonsillectomy. Keller disentangles himself just long enough to say that he still can't believe Toby finally got his parole. "Trust me, I won't fully comprehend it until I'm having my first martini," replies Beecher. Um, hello? You just did six years in prison for drunk driving and killing a little girl, you moron! Way to learn your lesson, there, buddy. Also, way to telegraph your future while we're at it. Hell, not even the automated schmaltz generator the writers used to create Patti LuPone's character is that obvious. Keller also worries that Tobias will forget about him, but Beecher swears he'll continue working on the appeal, and that they'll actually be seeing more of each other now than they did before. Lopresti returns to break them up once and for all, and the scene ends with him and Keller writhing about on the floor in a fistfight while Jaz Hoyt watches balefully from his own cell. And to be perfectly honest, I gotta say that I'm really not seeing the whole vaunted Beecher/Keller chemistry thing here that everyone is all a-twitter about. I mean, there was more passion between David and his parking-lot prostitute than these two seem to have. It must have just been a really bad day on the set or something. Either way, I'm kinda disappointed. ["I did not get my Spaghetti-O's, I got spaghetti. I want the press to know this." -- Thomas J. Grasso (lethal injection, March 20, 1995)]
Down in the hospital, Schillinger is pushing the mail cart this week; Cindy Brady apparently needed some extra time to scour eBay for more hair-care products and a VHS tape of that one Kids in the Hall episode where Bruce McCulloch and Shaun Cassidy fuck a piece of toast. After Henry Stanton scores the throwaway line of the night ("I love my Rosie!" Hee!), Vern pauses to allow the camera to linger lovingly on the greasy gray locks of a random prisoner I was planning to call Cletus The Slack-Jawed Inmate until the forums revealed that he once went by the even more suitably West Virginia-riffic name of "Billy Clyde Tuggle" when he was on All My Children. Billy Clyde'll be important in a minute, but in the meantime, Schillinger is finally getting an opportunity to visit with his long-lost hero, Mayor McKKKraggy. Unfortunately, the visit doesn't go quite as planned, with the mayor telling him (among other things) that he's "an embarrassment to the Brotherhood," and that he "always had these big plans with no balls behind them." Oy. Shut up, Trent Nott. "I…have balls," whispers a shattered Schillinger in reply. Heh. J.K. Simmons is terrific in this scene, by the way. As he sadly exits the hospital ward, Billy Clyde calls after him with a parting shot that to my eternal dismay does not include in the phrase, "You sure do got a purty mouth." Shut up, Billy Clyde.
Unit J. Yood and Beecher are saying their goodbyes, with Beecher finding a nugget of humor in the phrase "You too, Yood" that no one else on Earth will ever understand. And speaking of things that no one else on Earth will ever understand, he also takes a moment here to pull on a truly hideous cornflower-blue V-neck sweater (which he later wears in combination with a navy blue overcoat). Now, what's the point of getting released on parole if the fashion cops are just going to nab you the second you step outside? I don't get that. Reminding us of his pre-Oz tenure as deputy sheriff of the Commonwealth of Bad Timing, Yood leans in to whisper conspiratorially that he's just discovered who killed Beecher's father. He reveals that it was Cindy, acting on orders from Schillinger, and then suggests that Beecher might want to go "tooth for a tooth," and kill Schillinger's own father figure, Mayor Loewen. Heh. Typing "father figure" just made me wonder why George Michael hasn't done a guest shot on this show yet. You have to admit, he'd be perfect for it. Beecher just stands there, looking thoughtful.
Back in the hospital, Mayor McBullConnor is "entertaining" Ex-Wife Ellie and Governor Objects On Television May Be Smaller Than They Appear with still more tales of his presidential pomposity. For the record, the slogan "Just Say No" has never been more meaningful than when applied to anecdotes about Nancy Reagan's panties. I'm just saying. Ex-Wife Ellie excuses herself to attend a meeting, but Loewen asks Governor Tiny Toons to stick around for a moment. Then he berates him like a redheaded stepchild, spitting, "You fucking cocksucker, you swore to me that you would never let me serve a day." Jesus Christ, does this guy own the entire fucking state? Since when does the mayor of Shelbyville get to talk to a governor like that? "They were burning down the city," says Devlin. "Correction," answers the mayor. "They were burning down THEIR city. THEIR neighborhoods. THEIR businesses." Then he suggests calling out the National Guard and using tear gas and rubber bullets instead of letting one man go to jail. Geez. Shut up, Grim Fortuyn. Mayor McJohnRocker threatens Governor Tiny Cobb with the prospect of a prison-cell press conference where he could reveal all manner of political nastiness that would land Devlin right beside him in Unit J, where they could play "par-fucking-cheesi" all day long. Heh. Devlin promises to find a way, but then he leaves the room and ominously orders a lackey to undertake a unnamed task that requires "enormous discretion." Dun dun DUH!
Cut to the most improbably darkened hallway yet, with Beecher and Sister Pete stopping to receive advice on low-light navigation from some of the rescued Quecreek miners before heading over to Receiving and Discharge. They're met there by Kareem Said, who softens his glare just enough to let us know that he'll really miss his friend Tobias. Aww. And then they even hug! Man, Said hasn't glowered at a white person like that since the last time we saw Tricia Ross. Beecher does stop to exposit that he'll be coordinating some pro bono legal work for the prisoners in memory of his father, just so we know that he'll still be appearing in the remaining five episodes. That is, unless he's too drunk to drive into work, of course. After a mildly touching farewell with Sister Pete, Beecher signs out of prison once and for all. And then, after repeating the word "free" so many times that it ceases to have any meaning whatsoever, he turns and walks out the door. Something (and I don't just mean the spoilers on HBO.com) tells me we'll be seeing him again.
Augustus Hill: [complete with ludicrous faux-rasta accent] "One good thing about music: when it hits you, you feel no pain. So hit me with music." -- Bob Marley, "Trenchtown Rock"
Aaron: "Take a step forward, lads. It will be easier that way." -- Erskine Childers. Firing squad, November 24, 1922.
As Dobbins continues strumming away on his famed Concerto in D Minor for Harpsichord and Shiv, we see good ol' Billy Clyde Tuggle utilizing a distraction in the hospital ward to sneak into the mayor's private room. Once there, he tragically opts not to make the man squeal like a pig before slashing hizzoner's throat with a scalpel, sending an arterial blood spray splattering across the sheets, the walls, and Billy Clyde's own presumably toothless mouth. Ew. Farewell, Messy Helms. You'll not be missed. We then go to the wrap-around, with Schillinger, Beecher, Beecher's ugly sweater, and Governor Smallpox each responding to the news of Loewen's death with an flat and emotionless "Oh, well."
And speaking of a flat and emotionless "Oh, well," it's once again time for everyone's favorite part of the show: The Rebadoze & Patti Jailhouse Geriatrics Hour. This week's installment updates the continuing saga of Patti's quixotic quest to save the troubled of youth of Oz by enrolling in them in Oprah's book-of-the-month club. When she's informed that an eighteen-year-old new arrival clubbed his cellmate with one of her precious healing tomes, she immediately jots his name down, so as not to miss out on even a single opportunity to prove how truly annoying a patronizing do-gooder can be. When Rebadoze asks if her boyfriend minds that she spends so much time in Oz, however, Patti's nuclear-powered Heuristic Mega-Watt Emotion Generator kicks over from "maudlin" to "coquettish" (albeit with an unfortunate catastrophic meltdown somewhere in the vicinity of "constipated") and replies, "Is that your not-so-subtle way of asking if I'm involved?" Then she hops up on the table and shoves her knees in his face as a flirting technique. Oh, please. I know Dr. Melfi. Dr. Melfi's knees are friends of mine. And you, ma'am, are no Jennifer Melfi. "Men are like books," she explains, in a cliché so obvious that I was actually able to recap this scene before it even aired. "Sometimes I want a romance, sometimes a thriller, sometimes maybe a trashy novel to take to the beach, and sometimes, I want a classic. A classic like YOU, Bob. Take me now, you neck-string-wearing hunk of finely-aged manflesh!" Ew. Sorry. On the other hand, I've just realized that Patti's shirt has a neck-string of its very own printed around the collar. Hee! It's got the little knot and everything! Now THAT'S funny. Seriously, people. If you've got the episode on tape, go back and check it out. Someone in the costume department is totally my new hero for that. Anyway, Rebadoze wonders if she's ever been married, and even goes so far as to suggest that maybe she's been "reading" too fast. "I'm voracious," she replies. And I'm nauseous. Moving on.
And just when you think it can't get any worse, we get stuck with a crap-ass crime flashback. Yip-fucking-ee. Sigh. This one features a young Hispanic kid (prisoner number 02R-104 -- Pablo Rosa. Involuntary manslaughter. Sentence: Eighteen years. Up for parole in ten) pulling a gun out of his friend's crotch and accidentally discharging it into the ceiling of a high school hallway. Because no one in Oz can ever commit a crime that doesn't make you want to buy an eighth of whatever the writers were smoking when they came up with it, he ends up killing a girl who was simply sitting peacefully in a classroom on the floor up. What makes this particular flashback really offensive is that it looks like they actually had to blue-screen in Pablo's reaction shot because Chris Albrecht's nephew apparently forgot to shoot it. Or maybe it's really the lesser known third Winters brother who directs these things. Who knows? Who cares? Who just wants to know what happens ?
Heh. You're gonna be sorry you asked. It's Patti and Pablo, who if you haven't guessed by now is actually the kid who beat his cellmate with the book. Having apparently satiated her voracious appetite for the Viagra and vitamins set, Patti now attempts to sink her claws into tender young Pablo by noting that he's eighteen years old with eighteen years left on his sentence. Well, at least we know she's not a Skid Row fan. I'll also just say in advance that this scene is much more enjoyable if you simply close your eyes and pretend that Patti LuPone is actually Anne Bancroft. She asks if he ever enjoyed reading when he was in school, and then attempts to establish some street cred by saying that he probably didn't because he "hated the shit [his] teachers gave to [him]." Yo, that Patti is one fly bitch, ain't she? Pablo looks just as annoyed with her as I am before answering, "If you don't mind my saying so, Ms. LuPone, this conversation getting a little strange." Oh, he does not. He does, however, answer her query about what interests him in life with the ever-so-trenchant and succinct reply of "pussy and baseball." "Hmm. Pussy and baseball," repeats Patti. "Do you want me to seduce you and rape you with a bat? Is that what you're trying to tell me?" Okay, not really. But I am going to say just two words to you, Patty. Are you listening? "Shut. Up."
Em City. Rebadoze wanders through the common area wearing an older and neck-stringier version of the same nasty blue sweater Beecher had on earlier. He's intercepted by Alvarez, who just wants to tease him a bit about his flirtation with Patti. Miguel also quickly exposits that Maritza still hasn't been to visit him, thus demonstrating that whether he's applying a new coat of excrement wallpaper or simply ticking off plot points in his ten seconds of screen time, he remains always a master of efficiency. Rebadow also lets slip that he's got a visit scheduled with Busmalis's babe Norma later that day, prompting Miguel to utter the classic line, "Well, shit. Share the love! Share the loooooooooove!" Hee!
And here's that visit now. In a shot ripped straight from every movie ever made about prison by a first-year film student, we see Norma's face reflected in the glass beside Rebadow's as they talk on the little phones. Incidentally, how is it that Alvarez -- a repeatedly violent offender who's spent more time in Psych and solitary than anywhere else -- gets to meet with his mom in an open and empty lunchroom, while a ninety-five-year-old weakling like Rebadow has to talk to an unwed mother with a grandpa fetish through six inches of safety-glass? If you're going to fuck with continuity merely to justify a clever shot, can we at least make sure it's actually a clever shot time? Thanks. Anyway, Norma wants Rebadoze to try and convince Busmalis to come meet with zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Wha? Oh. Sorry. I must have Rebadozed off there for a minute. When I come back, Busmalis is in the common area, telling Rebadow that he hates to "play solitaire alone." I immediately reach for the Valium, so as to return myself to a state of drug-induced slumber. And you people wonder why these recaps take so long. Because I really can't be bothered to care about any of this, I'll just say that Rebadow tries to convince Busmalis to see Norma by pointing out that he still has twelve years left on his sentence, and he shouldn't have to spend all that time alone. I shouldn't have to spend that time listening to Rebadow talk about the way Patti makes his penis do things it hasn't done for the last thirty-eight years, but you don't hear me complaining. Except you just did. And do you see how I cleverly worked in those hoary old recap clichés of pretending to fall asleep and then also saying that I wasn't going to complain about something while actually complaining about it? Yeah. That's about the level of original writing we get in these scenes. Not to mention the fact that they go on and on and on and on and on and on and on. ["Hurry it up, you Hoosier bastard! I could hang a dozen men while you're screwing around." -- Carl Panzram (hanged at Leavenworth, September 5, 1930)] So, if I have to suffer, you do too.
But don't forget that Patti says, "If you read, you will succeed!"
Later, Rebadow is pushing the book cart through Unit B when Cutler tosses a worn paperback copy of Of Human Bondage at his feet. Oh, please tell me they're not actually going to go there. I mean, hasn't the "that's not really what it's about joke" been done like eight billion times before already? Why not just do knock-knock jokes? Hmm. Let's see. Knock, knock. Who's there? Orange. Orange, who? Orange you glad you're not a prag? Bwa ha ha ha ha ha! Hee! Heh! Ho! I'm so funny. Not. On the other hand, having someone say, "Who wears short shorts? Robson wears short shorts!" would actually have been pretty damn funny, because there he is, decked out in hot pants, red lipstick, and pearl earrings. One assumes they're saving the matching pearl necklace for an episode where they need some extra grittiness. In any case, Rebadow recommends Macbeth as a suitable replacement, and I breathe a hearty sigh of relief that he at least didn't try to pimp Hill's memoirs on us again.
And so it's off to the lunch room we go, where Robson (who's added a fanciful lime-green scarf to his ensemble, thus making him the only person in the entire prison with an acceptable fashion sense) is forced to endure the taunts of Poet and Ryan O'Reily as he waits in line for food. "What shade of lipstick is that?" wonders Ryan. "Dick Suck Red?" Believe it or not, I was actually sort of surprised that there isn't already a real brand of lipstick by that name. Which just goes to show that I don't buy a lot of makeup. You know, in case you were wondering. Pancamo tries to get in on the act as well, suggesting that Robson has started working "Receiving and Discharge," but then Cutler comes flying in from off-screen to live up to his prag-owning responsibilities by decking the guy. The guards quickly move in to break up the fight, and Robson just stands there looking relieved that he actually got his spoon's worth out of the deal. Which, I've learned courtesy of inscrutablyme on the forums, is actually standard procedure for all prag/pragger relationships. [CAUTION: Do NOT open that link if you're at work. Also don't open it if you're overly sensitive, under eighteen, living in a morally repressive society, easily offended by words like "Deleted by the TWoP legal department. Good God, man!", or if you've eaten anything in the last two hours. Otherwise, it's quite entertaining and highly informative.]
Because he's quite clearly the worst warden in the history of the American judicial system, Leo decides to reward Pancamo for this little altercation by giving the Sicilians control of the kitchen now that Crackhead Cosby has decided to become a telemarketer. Chuck Zito makes the most of his unfortunate resemblance to Sylvester Stallone in this scene, and manages to crack me up merely by raising an eyebrow.
The sound of cello music on the soundtrack causes me to cringe in anticipation of another Augustus Interlude, but instead we go to solitary, where Penders and White are trying to puzzle through the nature of their mysterious illness. With the collective brain power amassed between these two, I have no doubt that they'll not only find a cure, but also build a better mousetrap and solve the Grand Unified Field Theorem before lunch. Unfortunately, their deliberations are interrupted by Officer Claire, who slams their little peepholes shut, then praises the blessed silence. Heh. Sometimes I love Claire, and sometimes I just want to curl up into a little ball and cry "Mommy!" when I see her.
Medical ward. Dr. Nathan is reviewing her patient charts with a nurse who's desperately trying be some sort of a cross between Estelle Getty and that one older ho from Hookers on the Point. When she notices Dave Brass stopping by to banter with Martinez, however, Gloria jumps up and goes to the window to do a little spying. Behind her we can see Guerra approaching the ward, and in all fairness to a director I've already mocked several times in this recap, I will at least admit that this little sequence is actually shot quite cleverly to make it clear that Brass is lying when he says later on that Martinez confessed. There's also a pretty cute shot of Stanton reading his Rosie. Heh. Guerra comes over to talk with Martinez, and explains that Morales wants him dead so that he can't rat him out for the attack on Brass. You guys will just have to puzzle through the pronouns and M names right along with me on this one. Martinez bravely admits that he's too weak to fight, which gives Guerra's conscience a twinge and prompts him to put the shank back into his pocket. They shake hands, and Guerra heads back to Em City.
Where he quickly finds Morales, and reports that he refused to kill Martinez. Morales isn't pleased by this, and when Guerra suggests that he do the deed himself if he wants Martinez dead that badly, Morales angrily says he will.
But actually, he won't, because Martinez is already dead. And special points to the sound crew, by the way, for morphing the ever-present wail of The Trumpet Of Impending Scene Change into the flat-line beeping of the EKG machine. Gloria comes bounding into the ward to find Estelle Slutty standing over the corpse and complaining that she couldn't hear the "code" because she was busy filing reports in the office. Incensed at the thought of a tiny, helpless little Lourdes forced to grow up without a father, Gloria immediately fires Nurse Botch-It.
And then she goes storming into Leo's office, where she angrily throws Martinez's chart in Leo's face and repeatedly declares that she's going to make a full disclosure about the toxic chemicals. "Did you hear me?" she shouts. "Full fucking disclosure!" Yes, Gloria, we heard you. Now go away, and don't come back until you're ready to get naked and fuck Ryan O'Reily.
Because he's quite clearly the worst warden in the history of the American judicial system, Leo is finally convinced at this point that it might be a good idea to call a press conference and go public with the toxic poisoning story. Ex-Wife Ellie, however, isn't really sure that's the best plan. While reporters file in behind them, she and Leo stand off to one side and engage in a heated argument about the wisdom of this course of action. It's not actually heated because they're arguing, but rather because either these two are obviously sleeping together or Ellie has a serious OCD problem when it comes to straightening men's ties. For Christ's sake, she's practically licking his chest. "Here's to full disclosure," sighs Leo as he breaks away and steps to the podium. He reveals the death of Martinez to the waiting press, and Ellie stands by and watches her man perform on one of the little monitors nearby.
You know what's sad? As crappy a warden as Leo might be, he's still a huge improvement over Tim "Meditative Maze" McManus. Can you really blame Ellie for trading her way up the penal scale?
Oh, please. I said "penal," not "penile." You people are sick.
Down in solitary, Claire is taunting Penders and White with the news that Martinez has "bought the farm." Omar, however, doesn't even know what "bought the farm" means, so the news is largely lost on him. That joke is largely lost on me, by the way, even if the forums would seem to indicate that I'm the only one who didn't find it funny.
Meanwhile, Dave Brass is upstairs, cornering Murphy to tell him that Martinez made a deathbed confession fingering Morales as the guy who ordered his tendon to be slashed. Because this plot moves at the speed of Oz (which is just under 186,000 miles per second), the very shot is of Morales being led into solitary, where he finds himself alone in a cell with Brass, Claire, and Murphy. Oh, that's not good. They quickly bind him facedown and pants-less on the bed, and Brass hovers over his ankles with a switchblade while he does what all good villains do: over-explain. "Martinez cut me right here," he says, "and ruined my chances of ever playing pro ball. And I have this limp. So you see, Enrique, if I only cut the one, you'll limp like I do. But if I cut them both, you'll walk fine." Which of course leads one to wonder why Dave's doctor didn't just trim the other one for him, but it's probably best not to think too much about these things. Two quick flicks of the wrist later, Morales lies screaming in a pool of his own blood and tendon fluid, and Penders and White recoil in horror at the sound. ["Monsieur, I beg your pardon." -- Marie Antoinette, speaking to her executioner after stepping on his foot (guillotined, October 16, 1793.)]
Death row. Father Mukada, looking sprightly and cheerful now that his satanic nemesis is gone, ministers to a weepy Jaz Hoyt, who claims to be seeing the devil everywhere he looks after having been taken over by whatever evil spirit was possessing Timmy Kirk. "I'm not crazy," insists Hoyt. "I see the devil, right over your shoulder." BD Wong's slow burn as he turns to check is definitely the funniest (and probably the gayest) look of the episode.
Mukada then tries to convince Sister Pete that Hoyt really is insane, only she's not buying it. I don't buy it either, but that's mostly just because Evan Seinfeld isn't much of a dramatic actor. Given his, er, other attributes, I think we all know what kind of post-Oz movie work this guy will be up for. Sister Pete accuses Father Mukada of only wanting to help Hoyt in order to assuage his guilt over Timmy Kirk, and then they go off to read a Brother Cadfael mystery and a Mother Jones magazine together.
But first Mukada has to complete his contractually obligated weekly test-of-faith scene. This one involves meeting with Timmy Kirk's mother in order to hand over the kid's personal effects. It's a snoozer, although it does get at least partial credit for use of the phrase "Satan's whore." It's only partial because they weren't actually referring to Claire when they said it. Mama Kirk tearfully confesses to not loving her child anymore, and really, who can blame her?
Augustus Hill: "Music expresses that which cannot be put into words, and that which cannot remain silent." -- Victor Hugo, William Shakespeare (I.2.iv)
Aaron: "I'd rather be fishing." -- Jimmy Glass. Electrocuted, June 12, 1987.
Okay, so I'm just going to come right out and admit here that all week long I've had sort of a proto-joke tumbling around in my head that involves Edward Herrmann, Miss Patty, and Kirk all crossing over from The Gilmore Girls to take on their Oz doppelgangers in a weight-room knife fight. Does that make me crazy? I'm not really sure. But speaking of crazy, here's Cyril and Jericho, having a session with Sister Pete in her office. Cyril has withdrawn completely at this point, and is capable of communicating now only through the disgustingly dirty sock puppet on his right hand. Pete isn't happy about this, and she demands that Cyril return Jericho to his maker. Ew. Can't she at least make him wash it first? Cyril tentatively places his hand in hers, but instead of allowing her to remove the sock, he grabs her hand and squeezes hard enough that she's forced to call the guards in for help. They subdue Cyril, but sadly, the sock puppet dies a tragic death when it's stripped off his hand. Aww. Sniff. I should probably also admit that my Bar-Mitzvah haftorah portion was all about the fall of Jericho, so that may explain why I'm a little more choked up about this than usual. Oh, yeah. I'm crazy.
Back in his cell, Cyril whines and whines and whines for the return of Jericho. It's after lights out, and the other inmates are trying to sleep while he cries. Finally, Lopresti comes over and demands that he stop "sobbing like a chick over a stupid puppet." Man, he's a real sweetie, that Len Lopresti. When Cyril still refuses to shut up (I guess he's been meeting with Patti as well as Sister Pete), Lopresti has the other guard give Cyril a long blast of cold water from the fire hose. Ouch. That looked painful.
When the water finally stops, we cut from a soaked Cyril straight to Governor Itsy-Bitsy Spider, who is surprisingly not crawling up the waterspout. Instead, he's meeting with Warden Leo, Ex-Wife Ellie, and The Unnamed Lackey in Leo's office. Um, doesn't this guy have a state to run? Fundraisers to go to? Events that don't actually occur at the jail, maybe? It's no wonder he gets bossed around by piddling little mayors -- he never actually does anything. This time, Governor Micromanager wants to give Cyril electroshock therapy so that he'll appear sane enough to be executed. Because he's quite clearly the worst warden in the history of the American judicial system, Leo reluctantly agrees when presented with a signed release from Seamus O'Reily and a pledge that the Shelbyville Office of Mental Health will convince Sister Pete to go along. Ex-Wife Ellie looks especially giddy, but that may just be because she's planning on giving Leo a little electroshock therapy of his very own later on with the batteries from her vibrator.
Wow. I can't believe I just typed that. When did I turn into Uncle Bob?
In a valiant and much appreciated effort to keep my scene segues on a roll, the show cuts from Governor Itsy-Bitsy Spider to Sister Pete, who has become merely the latest victim to be trapped in the metaphorical web of McManus's meditative maze. That thing is a menace, I tell you. Leo finds her there, standing alone in the dark in the middle of a maximum security prison (as elderly nuns are wont to do), and asks if she's feeling okay. "Uh, no," replies Sister Pete, before explaining that she's being forced into allowing Cyril's ECT treatment. She goes on to regret that everything she's tried to help Cyril thus far has failed, and therefore she's got no other choice at this point but to accept the inevitable. This scene really reminded me of how much I like Rita Moreno, and how she usually gets taken for granted in these recaps because she's been there since the beginning. Well, no more. You go, girl! Work that sweatshirt! And incidentally, for those of you keeping score at home, it was exactly at the moment when I first considered (and then wisely rejected) yet another running gag for this recap that would have featured Rita Moreno making Patti LuPone her prag that I realized that yes, I definitely am crazy.
With the decision for ECT made, Sister Pete calls in Ryan and Betty Buckley to discuss their steps. After explaining why she can't return Jericho, Pete goes on to describe the treatment as "an ordinary household current applied to the brain for half a second, ten to fifteen times within a period of two to three weeks." Well, that doesn't sound so bad. Hell, I've gotten worse shocks off shag carpet. Ryan, however, doesn't like the idea all that much, and he likes it even less when he finds out that it was his father who okayed it. Strangely enough, though, he appears to have already known that Governor Small of America is the one behind the whole thing. This guy really is Lord of the Fucking Dance. Or maybe the writers just got lazy. The fact that they felt the need to insert a line rubbing our faces in the irony of a guy who's going to the electric chair getting electroshock treatments would seem to suggest the latter.
Augustus Hill: "Music is the brandy of the damned." -- George Bernard Shaw, Man and Superman
Aaron: "Shoot me in the chest!" -- Benito Mussolini. Firing squad, April 28, 1945.
Dobbins continues playing a serene melody over a long, well-executed scene of Cyril being prepped for and then receiving his electroshock treatment. It's not as good as the one in Requiem for a Dream, but in this case that's a compliment, because trying to rip off Darren Aronofsky is a quintessential first-year-of-film-school mistake. On the other hand, why the hell hasn't this show cast Ellen Burstyn yet? With all The Exorcist references and Tom Fontana's diva fetish, she seems like she'd be a natural. Maybe she could play George Michael's mother.
Later, Ryan and Betty Buckley come to visit Cyril in his cell. He's drooling and in pain, but he does seem to be a bit more lucid than normal, so maybe progress actually is being made. Betty holds him tenderly in her arms and gently sings him to sleep, as Ryan stands by and cries a single, solitary tear at the knowledge that his brother will probably always get laid more than he does after the show is over, because girls in bars always want to take pity on the poor retarded guy. ["I'd like to thank my family for loving me and taking care of me. And the rest of the world can kiss my ass." -- Johnny Frank Garrett (lethal injection, February 11, 1992)]
Unfortunately, things just keep getting worse for Ryan and Cyril, as Pete comes to Ryan's pod and informs him that not only has Cyril's appeal been denied, but his execution has actually been scheduled to take place in less than a month. Ryan refuses to accept that his brother might die, because doing so would be tantamount to giving up, and also because playing the loving sibling will help him pick up Scott's sloppy seconds later in life. He then holds up Father Salty Shitpants's old Bible, and says that for the first time in his life he actually has faith. And he's not even talking about George Michael. At least I don't think he is. Fade to black.
Fade up on the black inmates, gathered in a classroom while Crackhead Cosby explains his grand telemarketing scheme. Sadly, no one says the words "pudding pops," although everyone does complain when Redding says they're not going to be selling drugs anymore. Cosby heads off to meet with Business Barbie and her smarmy new client, who just so happens to be the campaign manager for a right-wing senator who'll surely factor into some future plot point or another. Oh, and I'm not sure whether it's the tight sweater or the fact that she keeps tossing around words like "call volume" and "contact numbers," but Business Barbie is suddenly starting to look really hot to me. That girl can call me during dinner anytime.
Redding's final meeting of the week comes in the common area, where he finds Poet reciting a new masterpiece that actually rhymes "tomorrow" with "Mt. Kilimanjaro." Heh. ["You can be a king or a street sweeper, but everyone dances with the Grim Reaper." -- Robert Alton Harris (gas chamber, April 21, 1992)] In spite (or perhaps because) of the fact that he's wearing a denim shirt and leather suspenders, no one really seems all that excited about the news that they'll be starting their new careers as phone reps at 9:00 AM the morning. There is a pudding pop mention, however, and that's good enough for me.
My old pal the Ironic Segue Fairy suddenly finds himself in Oz (Prisoner # 03F-2273. Assault with a deadly anvil. Sentence: Five episodes. Up for parole in three), where he immediately decides to compare and contrast leadership styles by cutting us from Crackhead Cosby to a nattily-dressed and well-mannered Kareem Said, discussing the publications of Augustus Hill's gratuitous merchandising opportunity with a couple of random businessmen. In a twist that no one even remotely familiar with AOL Time Warner's marketing department could ever actually believe, these guys are claiming that there are too many legal obstacles to be overcome before the book can be published, and therefore they've decided to pass. Said cranks the Glare-o-Meter up to level seven (which roughly approximates "simmering disdain for 'The Man'") as he angrily rejects their refusals, and promises to make publishing the book worth their while by lowering their printing costs.
Dammit! So close. We were so. Fucking. Close. Fifty-seven minutes with no McManus, and then they've got to go and spoil it with only two scenes to go. Now that's just rude. At least he only gets three lines. And one of them is even a slam on AOL Time Warner! I guess I can live with that. Said has gone to Warden Leo and asked for permission to set up a printing press right there in Oz, so that he can start his own company to publish Augustus's cheap promotional tie-in. He offers to pay all the start-up costs out of his own pocket, and even promises to pay his workers minimum wage so as not to emulate those capitalist bourgeois running-dog lackeys who manage all the call centers. Leo likes the idea enough to sign off on it right away, and McManus then adds, "You know, if we keep developing our own industries, Oz is gonna end up on the cover of 'Fortune 500.'" Hee! They can't even get the name of the magazine right, and it's published by their very own corporate masters! Was that just a slip, or are the writers as annoyed with the forced product placement as I am?
After securing permission to start his publishing house, Said gathers the Muslims to deliver a lengthy sermon about the power of books. Unlike Patti, however, his is actually worth listening to. Also unlike Patti, he's also about to leave the show before wearing out his welcome. The speech is a good one, and it even nicely shows off Eamonn Walker's glaring ability as he demands their "absolute commitment" and then leads the troops in a rousing chant of "Allahu Ahkbar." Knowing what comes has led me to look at this scene in a whole new light, and I now realize that the only thing missing is some blue face paint and a couple of kilts.
Said then leads Arif down to the visitor's center, where he explains that he's solved all the legal obstacles, and has even scheduled a meeting with a reporter to publicize the upcoming release of Hill's cynically synergistic marketing ploy. He walks over to greet the reporter (who's played by Joel Grey of Cabaret and Remo Williams: The Adventure Begins fame), but before he can even introduce himself, the guy pulls out a pistol and fires a half-dozen shots right into Said's chest. Wow. I did NOT see that one coming. I probably should have, what with the glamour shot in the scene and the episode's obvious proximity to Martin Luther King Day, but nonetheless, I was genuinely surprised. Arif rushes over to Said, whose dying words will be forever remembered as "Don't harm him. And don't let them bury me with a smile on my face." ["So the heart be right, it is no matter which way the head lieth." -- Sir Walter Raleigh (beheaded, October 29, 1618)] With one final, life-ending glare unto the heavens, Kareem Said dies, bringing to a close one of the most interesting chapters in the history of Oz. Fade to black.
Augustus Hill: "Music has charms to soothe a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak." -- William Congreve, The Morning Bride Act I, scene i
Aaron: "Hurrah for anarchy! This is the happiest moment of my life." -- George Engel. Hanged unjustly for the Chicago Haymarket bombing, November 11, 1887.