Props to NASA. They're gonna need 'em.
We fade up on Hill in the God Pod, giving us a quick reminder of how it all began. "In the beginning," he says, "there was the word. And then the 'word' begat 'Wordy McWord,' which begat 'Edited to add,' which begat the broken keyboard, and then a plague of slasher/shippers were set forth upon the Earth to be fruitful and multiply." Okay, not so much on that last part, I suppose, but there are still plenty of shout-outs to go around in this episode, so it's all good. Hill reveals that our theme of the week is "communications," and seeing as how that was my major in college, I do feel eminently capable of intelligently recapping his thoughts on the subject. Of course, anytime you attend a Big East college and more than half the basketball team shares your major, you know it's not exactly [now inappropriate "rocket science" joke deleted here]. Hill goes on to explain that God just wants someone to talk to, whereas mankind is too busy with "gossip pages and phone sex, re-runs of Seinfeld and auctions in cyberspace" to pay attention. Oh, I don't know about that. Something tells me that if God were to start selling stuff on eBay, he probably wouldn't have too much trouble meeting his reserve price. Not to mention the fact that I can totally hear the heavenly phone sex conversation: "Behold now, I have two daughters which have not known man; let me, I pray you, bring them out unto you, and do ye to them as you wish (Genesis 19:8)."
An opening shot worthy of the famed Law & Order "cha-chung" shows us a no-nonsense female homicide detective arriving at Oz just minutes after the death of Kareem Said. Her conversation with Leo, which basically just recaps the events of the episode, is inter-cut with McManus, who is providing the same service for the inmates of Em City. You know, I think we should all be glad McManus isn't recapping this show for real. He'd probably still be going on about the metaphysical benefits of spooning as an "emotional enema." The prisoners all respond in various ways when they hear the news, with reactions ranging from tears (the Muslims) to indifference (the Italians) to "Where the hell is craft services?" (that one fat biker-looking extra in the background).
Cut to Lenora Briscoe, interviewing Said's killer in an office somewhere within the lightless depths of Oz. The elderly gentleman confirms that his name is, in fact, "Lemuel Idzik," before adding, "Who could make up a name like that?" Personally, I'm guessing Tom Fontana, but that's just me. Idzik readily admits to having done the deed, but the only explanation he can offer is the cryptic revelation that he had to kill Said "before nightfall." What is this, 24? Besides, on a show where the entire Death Row appeals process can be resolved in a single thirty-second narration break between scenes, not even The Flash could reasonably expect to get anything done before nightfall. Hell, six weeks just went by in the time it took me to type that sentence, and that's with the damn TiVo on pause, no less. And while we're at it, you know what else is fun? Mentally substituting the phrase "cast in a Bruce Willis movie" every time someone uses the word "kill" in relation to Said. And then pondering which might be the scarier fate.
Outside the office, Ellie comes up to Leo and informs him that the reporters are already on their way to Oz. He tells her to hold them outside the gate (gee, that won't look suspicious), and she promptly snits off to implement his orders. Lenora emerges at this point, saying that she's going to take Idzik downtown for more questioning (because Oz has no light bulbs she can shine in his face), and Leo trots off to find out how someone managed to smuggle a gun into his prison.
Well, you'll all be relieved to know that crack agents from the Transportation Security Administration have now been assigned to guard the metal detectors at our nation's prisons, as well. Or at least that what it looks like, as Leo spends most of the scene laying the smackdown on the alcoholic guard who let Idzik through. For some reason, the director has elected to block this scene so that an incredibly annoying thin black line of shadow falls across Leo's eyes, making him look for all the world like a rape victim whose identity is being concealed for a televised trial. Hmm. Bad lighting, or merely a metaphoric allusion to the way in which Oz has been violated by the blatant phallic symbolism of an unauthorized handgun? I'm guessing bad lighting, but that's just me.
Back in Leo's office, Governor Little Caesar's Pizza Pizza throws a teeny-tiny bone to our forum readers by complaining about the recent rampant death rate in Oz. "Mayor Loewen, Harrison Beecher, Schibetta, Kirk, and now Kareem Said," he lists, "all murdered in a matter of weeks." Well, yeah. I seriously can't believe it's taken anyone six years to notice that Oz is just about the deadliest place on Earth. For God's sake, you'd be safer painting a bull's-eye on the roof of one of Saddam's presidential palaces and waving to the passing cruise missiles than you would be as an inmate in this place. Leo claims that there doesn't seem to be any connection between the murders (other than the fact that they happened on his watch, of course), and Lenora further exposits that they still don't have any clue as to who killed good ol' Gone Thurmond. Governor Big Trouble In Little Oz just wants her to pick a random inmate to blame (because he's sooooo the one who ordered the hit), and he puffs himself up to his full height of four feet three inches as he threatens her job on the way out the door. Once they're alone, Lenora and Leo re-exposit the circumstances around Mayor McHimmler's death, just so we don't forget about them when it becomes a critical plot point before the inevitable finale.
Our new narrator du jour is one Antonio Nappa, and given the pervasive product-placement for Hill's upcoming memoir that we've been forced to endure this season, it seems worth noting here that Mr. Nappa himself was killed precisely because he was writing memoirs of his own. Sometimes the ways of the Lord are not mysterious at all. Nappa wonders aloud if Gutenberg would be proud that his printing press had paved the way for "Juggs, High Times, and Soldier of Fortune." I'm guessing he would have been, but that's only because I actually subscribe to two out of those three magazines. I'll let you guess which two. Incidentally, here's a bonus freaky inter-textual coincidence for you: Gutenberg lived in the same town as Reb Amnon.
up we get Beecher, returning to Oz for the first time since obtaining his freedom. He exchanges a bit of banter with new, non-drunk gate-guard, who tries to liven things up a bit by mocking Beecher for calling Keller his "client," and also by suggesting that Beecher is required to list his favorite color on the entry log. "A little humor breaks up the day," grins Sobriety McHaha. And the recap as well, for that matter:
Knock knock. Who's there? Sars. Sars who? Sars got to be another show I could be recapping.
When the epic peals of laughter finally stop ringing through the murky corridors of Oz, Beecher takes a moment to gather his wits before finally setting foot back inside the prison. He barely makes it three steps down the hallway before bumping into a doorway that was all but invisible in the looming shadows. Just kidding. He actually bumps into Sister Pete, who was all but invisible in the looming shadows. She informs him about Said's death (even though the media has presumably been reporting it for some time now), but before we can get his full reaction, we cut away to a cheesy expository black-and-white flashback which reminds us of the circumstances surrounding Chris Keller's current incarceration on death row.
When we return to the present, Beecher is in Keller's cell, detailing his efforts to get the death sentence overturned. A cursory glance at Beecher's tie reveals that his unfathomable affection for the color cornflower blue has now carried over to his neckwear choices. I guess we should just be happy it's not a neck string, right? Anyway, Beecher seems to have found evidence that the witness against Keller is unreliable at best, which means that they have a good chance of winning their appeal. We also learn that Shelbyville is located in a "three strikes" state, which narrows the list of possible locations to a group of approximately twenty-three states and the District of Columbia. You know, in case you're still curious. Lopresti swings by to drop some rain on their lovable-murderers-going-free parade, and Keller quickly changes the subject to ask Beecher how he's enjoying his freedom. After listing a few of his favorite things (being outside, seeing his kids), Beecher makes the unforgivably stupid mistake of telling Keller that he's already met a nice woman who makes him laugh. Jesus Christ. What is he, drunk already? Your boyfriend's on DEATH ROW, moron. Don't be telling him shit like that. At least lie a little bit and say she was butt-ugly or something. Although it is good to know that Beecher's relationship skills are even worse than my own.
Sister Pete's office. Keller comes in for his biannual We're Going To Kill You, So We Need To Make Sure You're Sane Enough To Enjoy It mental health check-up, and he immediately resumes his old flirtatious ways with the good sister. For some reason, the director has elected to block this scene so that Keller looks as unattractive as possible. He's sporting a scraggly two-day growth of beard that's interlaced with various scratches and bruises from his fight with Lopresti, and we even get a long, lingering shot of his incipient beer-belly silhouetted against the only light source left in the entire prison. What's up with that? Keller mopes over the fact that Beecher has obviously fallen in love with someone else, and the sulking quickly escalates into blind rage when he admits that he wants to be able to have the same kind of life as Beecher. "I get executed," he shouts, "and [Beecher] lives a long, old life surrounded by his grandchildren." That's assuming his entire family isn't dead by now, of course. "You can't expect me not to be a little envious," he finishes, but Sister Pete says that if he truly loves Toby, he should be envious and even more. Aww. You know, these two are no Tony and Melfi or anything, but they're certainly no Rebadoze and Patti, either. Good scene.
After revving up his cinematic DeLorean to eighty-eight miles an hour and engaging the flux capacitor, Beecher returns to death row to announce to all and sundry that Keller's death sentence has just been commuted. Schillinger and Lopresti are standing by to provide comically disappointed reaction shots, and I'm left to mourn the fact that Vern manages less than thirty seconds of screen-time this entire episode. Perhaps he's the new Melfi. Keller grabs Toby through the bars of his cell, and they embrace as Keller repeatedly chants "I owe you my life" in a hoarse and desperate whisper.
And how does he repay that debt? Well, immediately upon his return to Gen Pop, he seeks out Cindy Brady in the weight room and heads over to introduce himself. Cindy, who looks as if he still might be wearing a bit of lipstick (Dick Suck Red? Neck Snap Mauve?), acts like the hottest boy in school just asked him to the prom when he replies, "You're Keller, right? I've heard plenty of stories about you." Giggle, giggle. Cindy is even more excited when Keller claims to find him "fascinating," and quickly agrees when it's suggested they meet later on in the Unit B storage closet. Then he grabs a pen and paper and plays MASH over and over again until he and Keller end up in a mansion with three kids and a Ferrari.
Cut to said storage closet, where Keller lies in wait until Cindy arrives. Then he leaps out and presses him against the wall for a kiss. You know, these two are no Nate and Brenda, but they're certainly no Mickey and Donna, either. So I guess that's something. Despite the fact that he just killed a man to get out of sucking dick, Cindy gleefully drops to his knees in front of Keller. And despite the fact that the last time he killed a guy he actually did let him finish the blowjob first, Keller gleefully leans over to snap Cindy's neck after revealing that he knows who killed Papa Beecher. There's a brief struggle, complete with grunts, moans, and no small amount of shouting on Cindy's part, but no one so much as pokes their head in to investigate while Keller lowers the body to the floor. Welcome to Oz, folks. Where the only thing more scarce than a light bulb is a guard. Or a camera. Or even a locked door, for that matter. Anyway, farewell, Franklin "Cindy 'Tom' Brady Spears" Winthrop. After Willie Nelson, you were totally my favorite guy in pigtails.
Nappa. This one starts off slow, with the trite observation that there's no real point in saying "keep in touch" over the phone, because there's no actual touching involved. Things improve immensely, however, when the comment "But still, getting an 'I love you' call in the middle of a shitty day makes a cell phone seem miraculous" is rapidly followed by a cut to Business Barbie leading Leo on a tour of the telemarketing center. Hee! Barbie quotes a handful of stats to him, accurately noting that a telemarketing operation only needs a success rate of one or two percent to be profitable. Then she brags that her numbers are closer to five or six percent. Heh. Rookie. Mine was nine-and-a-half last week.
We flit around the call center for a few moments, observing various prisoners making their calls. There's one guy who's really good, and another who keeps getting hung up on. Then, just for comparison purposes, we cut to Arif, having a touchy-feely with McManus. Tim exhorts him to "galvanize" his men, and one can only assume he wasn't referring to the metallurgical process. From there we go to Arif delivering a pep talk to the Muslims and asking them to select a new leader. A random guy whom I've decided to call Tertiary Muslim Who No Doubt Has Some Tragically Ironic Back Story I'm Unaware Of nominates Arif, and the others deliver a unanimous black power salute to seal his ascension. Then they all hug, although the very shot features Poet in the call center with his right arm outstretched, so I really have to wonder why the editor didn't just cut from one salute to the other. Anyway, Poet's call isn't going very well, and before long he's swearing into his headset and threatening to come straight to the woman's house. Hee! I can't even begin to tell you how many times I wanted to do exactly that when I worked the phones. I am so taking this as a shout-out, by the way. Redding gets all up in his face about the bad attitude and lousy customer service techniques, and if you close your eyes, it's almost just like he's yelling at Theo. While smoking crack, of course. Poet, however, refuses to swallow his pride (and in all fairness, the woman he was speaking to did say she "wasn't about to give her credit card number to some strange [racial epithet deleted]"), so Crackhead Cosby fires him right on the spot. "Fuck you, Burr!" screams Poet on his way out the door. "Fuck you and your pudding pops, too!" This galvanizes the rest of Redding's crew, and they all jump up and follow Poet out of the call center. Uh oh. Something tells me Crackhead Cosby ain't long for this world.
Back in one of the many areas of Em City where large numbers of prisoners are permitted to gather while totally unsupervised, Poet has assumed a new mantle of leadership. He explains to the rest of the gang that his new idea is for them to go work for Arif in the publishing house for a while, and then "come back double-time underneath the radar without [Crackhead Cosby]" so they can resume selling pudding pops to the general population. Man, I love it when a plan comes together.
But not as much as I love a good product placement, of course. McManus and the Muslims are gathered in the fully completed Print Shop That Time Forgot, where they're preparing to hold job interviews to fill out their staff. Um, wouldn't the Muslims be the ones doing most of the work? How many people do they need to print a glossy merchandising opportunity, anyway? It's not like they're copying the thing by hand. Before letting the applicants in, a nervous Arif gathers everyone around to pray, because they've all seen the recent profit warnings from AOL Time Warner, and therefore they know this book is the company's only hope for salvation. My only hope for salvation is the knowledge that Behind These Walls: The Journal of Augustus Hill is already available for pre-order on Amazon, which means that the scourge of product placement will hopefully soon be removed from our lives forever.
Tubey: Wanna buy a T-shirt?
Tom Fontana: Actually, I was thinking of going with a sticker. Or maybe a fleece pull-over. It gets awfully cold at night here in Shelbyville, you know.
Tubey: Great! Will that be cash or charge?
Tom Fontana: Are you insane? I'm not giving my credit card number to some strange [demonic television-related epithet deleted]!
Not satisfied with merely rubbing our noses in their collective corporate greed, the writers have now decided to inflict additional torture upon us by segueing into the I Didn't Even Know You Could Get Wrinkles On That Body Part segment of the show. Pablo Rosa (whose first name might as well be "Tabula" for all the emotion this actor manages to generate) swings buy, to return his book and allow his tough-guy veneer to soften just enough to request a second helping. Somewhere in America, Smokey the Bear and McGruff the Crime Dog exchange high-fives. Once he's gone, the writers decide to try and inject a little levity into the proceedings by adding Busmalis to the mix. Oh, yeah. That'll help. Agamemnon is all atwitter because Norma is coming to visit, and this time he's actually going to meet with her. Rebadoze suggests that he "put on a tie and some aftershave," and it's with delicious irony that I report the fact that the neck string appears to have its very own key light in this scene.
Cut to the visiting room, where Norma waits patiently for Busmalis to…good God, woman! Put on a bra, for Christ's sake! You could hurt somebody with those things! Not to mention the fact that they're hanging somewhere around knee level. That's just wrong. Anyway, Busmalis comes in and demands an explanation for why she left him at the altar and then got pregnant with another man's child. Norma immediately provides that explanation, complete with cheesy superimposed snow and the revelation that Elliot (the guy she cheated on Busmalis with) looks shockingly like the illicit love-child of Giancarlo Esposito and Christopher Lloyd. What's really scary is that he's still better than Busmalis. And just when you think things can't possibly get any worse, Norma blurts out that she thought about Agamemnon the whole time she was having sex with Gianopher. And then her left breast falls off and clanks to the floor. Sigh.
While Norma and Busmalis share a Metamucil toast to celebrate their reunion, Rebadow is downstairs in the library, reading aloud to Patti. Actual line of dialogue from this scene: "I love the timbre of your voice, Robert." And I love my mute button, Patti. After a brief interruption that features a guard calling Rebadow "loverboy," our intrepid octogenarian makes the most indecent proposal of all -- he wants to read naked to Patti in a garden, as Blake and his wife allegedly used to. Or at the very least, in a storage closet containing a few geraniums. After mentally reviewing all the disgusting things I've seen in my life (a list which includes Janice & Joey, my own femur, the body of a guy who jumped off a ten-story building, and the excreted remains of last night's quesadillas), I can safely conclude that the mental image of Rebadow reciting the collected works of William Blake with his red dragon flapping in the breeze would easily be number one with a bullet. If this guy starts showing skin, I quit. And then, of course, we move from the subcutaneous to the merely ridiculous, as Patti confesses that she has breast cancer. Now, I enjoy a good Race For The Cure just as much as the guy whose mother has had a mastectomy, but SHUT UP, PATTI. And shut up, Automated Maudlin Character Generator, while we're at it. Not surprisingly, Rebadow doesn't take the news very well, and he stomps out of the library without a response. Do you get it? Because his grandson! Died! Of cancer! Oh, the irony! Oh, the humanity! Oh, the neck string!
The day, Rebadow and Busmalis are folding clothes in the laundry room. Busmalis is all peppy, and even reveals that he's considering having Norma bring her baby in for a visit. After all, he explains, "Who could be jealous of a guy named Elliot?" I'm guessing a guy named "Agamemnon," but that's just me. Because it's possible that people who are deaf, dumb, and blind (as well as certain species of domesticated house pets) might not have seen this role reversal coming, Rebadow acts all extra-grumpy when he snits, "We're full of false fantasies, Agamemnon….There's nothing to be gained from your pains except more pain." Aww. Now see? Bitter Rebadow I like. Naked Rebadow, not so much.
Nappa again. This time the target is television. "[Man] wants to sit in his living room and watch people in a box fall in love, work, sing, golf, cry, fuck, and fuck up." And then write detailed essays about it. "Television," he continues, "is a one-way conversation between you and the world, where the world does the talking." I'm sure David Chase and Alan Ball know exactly what he's talking about. For added laughs here, by the way, the fat biker extra is picking his nose in the background.
Death Row. Lopresti arrives to take Cyril to his electroshock treatment, but Cyril doesn't even know what that is. "Jesus, why is it every time I gotta tell you what ECT is?" gripes Lopresti. "That's because electroshock causes memory loss," answers Father Mukada as he passes by. Lopresti then scores the biggest laugh of the episode with a simple "Oh," before continuing to unlock Cyril's cell. Mukada keeps on walking, but he pulls up short and receives a particularly nasty shock when he approaches Hoyt's cell and Jaz pops out to lunge against the bars and scream like he's passing a large kidney stone. Oy. Shut up, Dirk Lecter. Hoyt whines some more about seeing the devil, and I'm forced to revise my earlier assessment and say that his screaming actually sounds more like he's just stepped on a cat that's passing a large kidney stone.
Mukada then schedules a meeting with Hoyt's lawyer, where we learn that the guy not only tortured animals and sodomized playmates as a child, but he also comes from money and attended Exeter and Harvard before dropping out to become a biker. Wow. And also -- hee! Mukada really does love to gossip.
And just like that, faster than you can even say "Shut up, Sparky," Hoyt is transferred off death row and into a ritzy psychiatric hospital, all while Cyril is still recovering from the after-effects of another ECT treatment. Down in Em City, meanwhile, Ryan takes advantage of Oz's patented nine-mile-long headphone cords to listen in on a TV broadcast explaining everything I just wrote in the sentence. Then his lawyer comes in for a visit, and also explains everything I just wrote in that sentence as well. He then reminds us that Cyril's execution is coming up in just two short weeks, so be sure and set your VCRs.
Crap-ass crime flashback. It's Prisoner #03N-679, Jahfree Neema (a.k.a. Said 2.0). Convicted January 10, 2003 for kidnapping his own daughter from a schoolyard. Sentence: Seven years, up for parole in three.
You know, the only thing that makes these Macbeth rehearsal scenes tolerable is Alvarez's perpetual annoyance with the proceedings. Well, that and the guy who plays Lady Macbeth, but we'll talk more about him later. Ryan wanders in just as things are wrapping up, and Betty Buckley pulls him aside to say that she has a confession to make. It turns out that she and our new pal Jahfree Neema had a bit of thing back in the day. In fact, he's the guy who convinced her to run out on Papa O'Reily and abandon baby Ryan to Seamus's tender mercies. Ryan has a hard time coming to terms with this revelation, especially when Betty further admits that she and Jahfree did more than just smoke dope and protest against The Man together. "You know what it was like living with your father," explains Betty. "It was very repressive, and Jahfree helped me to free myself." Oy. Shut up, Patty Worst.
Ryan can't be too broken up, however, because the very scene has him visiting Jahfree in his new Em City digs. Showing the warmth and hospitality that the Black Panthers are so rightly famous for, Jahfree immediately demands that the "white boy" get out of his cell, and Ryan is only too happy to oblige.
Jahfree can't be too much of a racist, however, because the very scene has him sharing a tender moment with Betty Buckley in the weight room. I'm not sure whether to mock Betty here for wandering unescorted through the prison (people die here every ten minutes, for God's sake!), or for flirting with the Jahfree right in front of Ryan and half the inmate population (even Ruth Fisher handled this situation better, for God's sake! And she was dating Ed Begley Jr.!).
Nappa. The internet is great (boy, ain't it!), "but if it's such a revolution in communications, why do studies show that the more time one spends online, the more isolation one suffers?" Hey! Who you calling isolated, buddy? If we're so damn isolated, what do we need the TWoP personals for, huh? Huh?!? Oh. Right. Good point. Incidentally, if I were to take out an ad, would someone out there be willing to date me? I clean up nicely, and I promise I'll never publish a snarky recap of our date on the internet.
And speaking of dating, here's Leo and Ellie. Except instead of making a love connection, she's actually just chewing him out for going public with the toxic solitary news, because now Penders is suing them for endangering his life. Ahh, the perils of the office romance. One day you're making mad, passionate, tie-stroking love, and the you're getting yelled at for poisoning prisoners and leaving the cap off the toothpaste. Run away, Leo! Run as fast as you can!
Penders, meanwhile, is busy trying to convince Omar to join his lawsuit. I thought the whole point of solitary is that it's supposed to be, well, solitary. These guys are chatting through the walls like they're at a coffee klatch or something. Anyway, Leo comes down to visit Omar, who promptly offers not to join the lawsuit if Warden Leo lets him out of solitary. Leo agrees, on the condition that Omar agree to never mention this conversation again. Oy. I don't know who's being dumber here, Leo for thinking that Omar can keep his mouth shut, or Omar for thinking that he'll be any safer in Em City. I give the guy two weeks max before someone shivs his ass.
Upstairs, McManus delivers a pale imitation (get it?) of Said's glare when Leo informs him that Omar will be getting out of solitary. Leo doesn't care. And neither does Omar, for that matter, who's too busy trying to wrap his three remaining brain cells around the idea that Said is dead to notice McManus pretty much blowing him off when he gets back to Em City.
And now to the hospital, where Gloria hands over Carlos Martinez's autopsy report. It turns out that the toxic fumes didn't kill him, because he was suffocated in his sleep before they got the chance. The envelope containing the results has a giant red "Confidential" stamp on it, by the way. So much for "full fucking disclosure," I guess. Leo isn't sure whether he should be relieved that the chemicals weren't as deadly as they thought, or worried that he has yet another murder investigation on his hands.
It's probably the latter, because he invites Dave Brass up to his office for a quick interrogation. They rehash the events of the episode (Brass claimed Martinez made a deathbed confession implicating Morales), and Dave vehemently asserts his innocence. Leo doesn't believe a word of it, however, and almost gleefully announces that Brass is the prime suspect. This prompts Dave to go complain to Murphy about how innocent he is, and further gripe that he can't take a lie detector test to prove that he's not a murderer because he actually did lie about Martinez confessing. Whoops. Murphy is furious when he finds out that he participated in the torture of a prisoner without any actual proof to justify it, which strikes me as hypocritical at best, and utterly out-of-character in the first place at worst. For those of you who were wondering why Murphy helped Brass last week, it's apparently solely because the writers needed someone for Brass to be able have this conversation with in the episode. Sigh. Anyway, they fight, and Morales ends up getting released from solitary. Somebody wake me up when Edie Falco comes back.
Hospital ward. Nurse Botch-It is back, and she warily steps over to talk with Dr. Nathan. She's relieved, however, when Gloria actually apologizes and offers to let her come back to work instead of yelling at her some more. "I know what it's like to get blamed for things that really aren't under your control," says Gloria. Um, hang on a second. You were pissed last week because she missed an alarm, and now this week you're apologizing and rehiring her because she missed an alarm AND a guy strangling one of her patients? No wonder the death rate in Oz is so high. And yeah, this whole little "nasty man" nurse subplot was clever, and I'll admit that you got me with it, but that still doesn't excuse the fact that it's completely nonsensical if you think about it for more than ten seconds. Then again, what on this show isn't?
Later in the day, Guerra swings by the hospital to greet Morales. Enrique, however, isn't in a very friendly mood, and he's obviously still holding a grudge that no one in El Norte followed his orders to kill Martinez. For added bonus irony, Nurse Botch It comes over to check on him just as this little Martinez-murdering conversation comes to a close. Morales asks for some juice, and Nurse Botch-It steps forward to deliver her big line: "Too bad about your friend Martinez," she says. "But he was a nasty man. He deserved to die." Dun dun DUN! Morales wisely puts down his cup of juice without taking a sip, and Augustus shows up to taunt us in a two-second shot that virtually ensures I will go to grave hating Hill with the fire of a thousand suns no matter what may happen in the final four episodes. God, that guy is annoying!
Visiting room. Alvarez struts in to meet with a buddy, and once again I'm able to call the outcome of a scene before even a single line is spoken. For the sake of completeness, I'll quickly recap the fact that they discuss Alvarez's car and whether or not Maritza is dating anyone before we finally get to the big reveal. Have you guessed it yet? If the answer is no, you obviously don't watch enough television. In fact, you should probably get the hell out of here and go read Salon or something. That'll be a bit more your speed. Those of you with more finely tuned dramatic irony detectors have no doubt already divined that Maritza's new boyfriend is none other than The Buddy himself. Alvarez reacts to this news with an angry glare and a threatening whisper that my limited Spanish translation skills heard as "I hope you eat meat." I'm guessing that's not right, but that's just me.
Later, Alvarez reclines on his bed all Colonel Kurtz-like and delivers a long stream-of-consciousness monologue about snails walking across razor blades and children with their arms cut off. Then Dennis Hopper wanders by and offers him another joint. Just kidding. He actually admits that he feels somewhat better now that the whole Maritza situation has been resolved. He's also proud of himself for not freaking out and attacking The Buddy. "I mean, everything happens for the best, right?" he asks. "Right?" McManus nods sagely, as only a pretentious fool can, and admits that Miguel is finally beginning to show some progress.
Nappa. In all fairness, I have to give credit where credit is due and say that the narration scenes were particularly well-written this week. Especially the first and last ones, which actually made more than a few salient points about God and man's need for instant gratification. This particular one, however, is definitely the runt of the litter. Not only is there a ham-handed reference to "that other Oz, Australia," but Nappa also actually uses the phrase "in the aboriginal sense," which for some reason causes me to have a disturbing mental image of Kangaroo Jack and Haley Joel Osment doing a duet on "Rapper's Delight." In the background, we see Alvarez putting all of his pictures and letters from Maritza into a box, which he then burns in an empty storage room. For the love of God, don't they even have smoke detectors in Oz?
And once again, Robson gets stuck at the tail end of the show. Get it? "Stuck at the tail end"? Yeah, I know. I apologize. Bad puns always seem to happen when I get close to the end of a recap. Anyway, Robson and Cutler are working out in the gym, and Robson is wearing a lovely little lace-edged strappy tank top to go with his short-shorts and combat boots. It all makes him look kind of like a hairless, drag-queen version of Joey Potter, if you ask me. Which is probably why you didn't. Incidentally, I owe Medigal a TM for last week's "Who wears short-shorts?" joke, so there it is. Thanks, Medigal! Cutler sends Robson to fetch him a towel, which enables Robson to cross the gym and have a quick little conversation with the Italians. Despite the fact that Cutler is standing not ten feet away, Pancamo and Urbano loudly suggesto that Robson kill his new protectoro, because it will win him friends with both the Aryans and the Italians. Robson takes about two seconds to consider the idea, and then heads back over to Cutler with a grimly determined expression on his face.
Play rehearsal. Despite the fact that he hadn't even heard of Macbeth last week, Cutler now seems to be playing the lead. Oy. It's yet another example of a clever idea (replicating the famed "Curse of Macbeth") that requires just one plot contortion too many to pull off successfully. Then again, I'm too busy giggling over the quick shot of Alvarez slumped unconscious across a nearby table to really care about continuity right now. Not to mention the fact that Lady Macbeth is here to lighten up my day. I seriously love this guy. "In-FIRM of purpose!" Hee! "Watch it, Buttercup!" Double hee! I mean, he's no Lady Mac or anything, and he does sort of look like a hairier, drag-queen version of Ruth Fisher, but still. He cracks me up. Do we know anything about this guy, or is he just some random inmate? Anyway, Cutler has trouble dealing with the fact that Macbeth is actually a lot wussier than he was expecting him to be. I mean, he's no Furio or anything, but still. Betty tries valiantly to explain the idea of "conflict" to Wolfie, but he's not buying it. "Like I said," he says. "Macbeth's a pussy."
And, of course, we cut from the word "pussy" to a shot of Cutler sodomizing Robson in their cell. And how exactly did it become "their" cell, anyway? Did Robson put in for a transfer? Is Leo in the habit of letting inmates pick their own cellmates? You know what, I don't want to know. I also don't want to know why it is that out of all the millions of possible things about this scene I could find disturbing, it's the pantyhose wrapped around Robson's face that's really creeping me out. ["Everyone else who saw the hose and drawled at their TVs, 'Son, you got a panty on yore head,' raise their hands. Just me? Okay, then." -- Sars] Cutler brings this little bout of rambunctious sex-play to a close by delivering a pair of particularly nasty punches to Robson's exposed flank, in a shot that required either several dozen takes or yeoman's work by someone in the make-up department to produce a credible bruise. As they sit up to bask in the afterglow, I'm forced to partially amend my recaplet and say that while there still wasn't any full-frontal nudity in this episode, we do catch a quick dorsal view of Robson doubly-circumcised penis, for those of you who care about these things.
Which is pretty much all of you, apparently. Robson peels the pantyhose off his head, and oh-so-subtly suggests that they try "B.C.P." (breath control play) the time. Cutler isn't interested at first, but when Robson's description of the practice includes the phrase "it feels like God himself is swallowing," he quickly changes his mind. Oh, Wolfie, Wolfie, Wolfie. Don't you watch Six Feet Under? I mean, they certainly watch you. Where's that HBO synergy when you actually need it?
Sister Pete's office. Robson kicks ass in this scene, especially when you realize that he's not just pouring his heart out convincingly, but also setting up the perfect murder. "I told you that shit about my dad," he confesses. "Well, in many ways I've become him. I mean, I've done shit to guys that I'm not proud of. But in other ways, I'm still that little boy getting fucked in the shed." Aww. Sort of. Robson goes on to say that he's worried about Cutler, because "sometimes his mood gets so dark, I think he might do himself." Sister Pete, who once again probably should know better, buys this story hook, line, and sinker, and promises to set up a meeting with Cutler as soon as possible.
Wolfgang obviously has other ideas, however, because the scene features Sister Pete hunting him down in the mailroom to chastise him for missing their appointment. "Shrinks are for fags," replies Cutler, much to the amusement of Schillinger, who stands nearby. Hi, Vern! We miss you! Come and see us sometime, okay? Only, not like that, you know? Cutler makes the mistake of threatening Sister Pete, which raises the ire of the guard who's with her. Oh, sure. She'll bring a guard to the brightly-lit mailroom, but not the pitch-black gymnasium. Whatever.
The morning, Robson wakes up to find Wolfgang's half-naked corpse hanging from the edge of the bed in a pantyhose noose. Ew. On the other hand, James's deadpan delivery of "Good morning, Wolfie," is utterly perfect. He casually calls the guard down to his cell, and an already good scene gets even better when the guard remarks, "Well, ain't that a kick. One of you actually went and lynched yourselves." Hee!
Nappa. When everything has been said and done, and all the words written, and all the phone calls made, we'll sit together and "watch Mother Earth's last days on reality TV." And then Hill will wander by, and remind us that God, "instead of wanting to talk, is now tired of listening." God ain't the only one, my friends. God ain't the only one.
Tom Fontana: I think what we got here is a failure to communicate. So you get what we had here last week, with no convorsation and all those quotes.
Aaron: Sorry. That's the way they want it. Well, they get it. I don't like it any more than you do.
Tom Fontana: Boy, I wish you'd stop being so good to me.
Aaron: In that case, get out. Now.
Tom Fontana: Oh, yeah? Well…"You son of a bitch. Give my love to mother." Francis "Two Gun" Crowley. Electric chair, March 3, 1931. Have some of that!