The following people officially rock: iMissEthan, The Mysterious Hawaiian, Uncle Bob, my dentist, and that little animated TiVo guy who shows up when your system reboots. I just thought you all should know.
We open with more of the Hill's Pod Blues, as Augustus informs us that 2.5 million people die each year in the United States. "This, of course, is using the dictionary definition of dead," he continues, "toe-tagged and body-bagged." Hmm. I don't know about you, but my dictionary doesn't really do a lot of rhyming. It does do a lot of miming, however, which can get a little annoying, because who wants to play charades when all they need is a quick definition? Anyway, this week's gimmick is listing the most common causes of death, and number one on the hit parade is heart disease. Which reminds me to go slather some extra grease on the bacon I'm having for breakfast while I type this. Mmmm, arterial sclerosis. Yummy. We're then joined by the new Narrator Du Jour, Dino Ortolani, who doesn't get much more screen time this week than he did in his first go around on the show. "Not all heart disease will leave you dictionary dead," clichés Dino. "Some will kill you, but still leave you living." Oy.
For the second week in a row, we begin the episode itself in the weight room. Beecher is doing bench presses in a quixotic quest to bulk up those scrawny arms of his, and also probably to prove his manhood after last week's metaphoric ass-fucking. He's quickly joined by Keller, who is rightly fearful that Tobias blames him for his current predicament. What follows is just some standard "honey, I love you, and you've got to believe that I would never intentionally set you up to be arrested on a parole violation" pleading from Keller, a romantic scene that was no doubt repeated in millions of homes across America this past Valentine's Day. And they say love is dead. But not "dictionary dead," apparently. In any case, Toby doesn't believe a word Chris is saying, and after setting the hearts of a vast majority of viewers aflutter by calling Keller a "wounded puppy," he further snarls, "I wish to God I'd left you on death row." This shocking sentiment prompts a nearby biker to stop doing his tricep curls long enough to raise a single scraggly-haired eyebrow in surprise. Hee! Even the tattooed freakazoid denizens of Gen Pop are big B/K shippers. Who knew? And even funnier is the nearly subliminal shot of Glenn Shupe working the heavy bag in the background. Heh. I can totally hear Burgess Meredith going, "Come on! Hit him with a right! And another right! And another right!"
Later on, Keller is moping in his cell when Schillinger stops by for a nice little chat. After reminiscing a bit about their days together in another prison ("You protected me. I sucked your cock," says Keller), Vern makes an offer of renewed friendship. "Now that [Beecher] is done," he says, "I'm saying let's be friends again. No cock-sucking. Just two guys looking out for each other." Aww. Male bonding always leaves me a little teary. Sniff. And while we're on the subject, I've got to say that Schillinger's near-total silence this season is nothing short of criminal. He's easily the best character on the show, and my love for J.K. Simmons is rapidly beginning to approach Season Three Furio levels of girlishness. Of course, this doesn't mean I want to see Vern in a pair of red satin bikini briefs or anything, but it would be nice if he occasionally got a few extra lines every now and then. After a mental blipvert of "Operation Toby" images, Keller finally agrees to bury the hatchet. The look on his face, however, suggests that Vern's back might just be where he decides to do it. Dun dun DUN!
And that's it for the big Beecher/Keller storyline this week, because here comes Dino to tell us that cancer is the second leading cause of death, and also "the scariest word in the English language." Oh, I beg to differ, my crispy-fried young friend. What about "neck-string"? Or "radiological dispersion device"? Or even "HoYay," for that matter?
Unit Zzzzzzzzzz. Rebadoze trundles his book cart and neck-string-mounted flashlight down a cellblock so dark you can't even make out the far wall. Sigh. Now, the last time he did this, we were treated to the unforgettable sight of Robson in hot pants and Dick-Suck Red, but sadly this time it's Pablo who pops out to inquire, "Why you treating [Patti] like a bitch?" Because I can, Pablo. And because this whole ridiculous storyline's paint-by-numbers plotting now dictates that Pablo's own sainted madre be a feisty survivor of the curse of cancer, who "squashed that disease like it was a cockroach," and now affords Pablo the opportunity to impart wisdom to his elders by comparing Rebadoze to his spunky yet childishly innocent eight-year-old sister. Oh, please. And how is this kid not a prag by now? The good news about this scene is that cinematography aficionados can get a kick out of watching the extra playing a guard in the far background repeatedly trying to position himself just perfectly so that a reflected spotlight makes his badge flare in the darkness. The bad news is that Pablo doesn't shank Rebadoze. Oh, well.
Suitably chastened by his encounter with the anvil of Unit Zzzzzzz , Rebadoze heads immediately to the library to make amends. Patti is there restocking the shelves when he arrives, and a quick close-up causes me to once again offer props to the props department, because it's Poet's book she's putting into place. Heh. I'm surprised the suits didn't make her use Hill's. Rebadoze convinces her to sit down for a talk, and an inmate who makes an even creepier Jesus than Creepy Jesus himself tries valiantly to ignore them as they bicker loudly about love and lumpectomies not three feet away from him. Sigh. You know what? I changed my mind. Cancer really is the scariest word in the English language. The good news about this scene is that costuming aficionados can get a kick out of the way Patti's sweater is clearly designed to call attention to her cancerous boobies, whereas Rebadow's neck-string is significantly droopier than normal, so as to better convey extreme contrition. Man, this show is attentive to detail in all the wrong areas, isn't it? Anyway, the bad news is that even though Patti basically tells him to get lost, the scene still ends with Rebadoze leaning in to administer a quick peck on the cheek that looked suspiciously like it might have involved some tongue. Ew. In fact, Creepier Jesus practically crawls under the table to get away when he sees it. Heh. I feel your pain, Creepier Jesus. I feel your pain.
The stop on our Plots You Don't Care About That I'm Still Contractually Required To Recap Tour is Unit J, where Yood expresses shock that Idzik has requested a voluntary transfer to Em City. Idzik's reply is to deliver an incredibly long-winded and nonsensical spiel about his penchant for amateur astronomy and how it pertains to determining the airspeed velocity of an unladen sparrow. And then before Yood can even stop to ask, "African or European?" we cut to McManus's office, where Omar complains about the impending transfer in his own inimitable style. In other words, he shuffles around and stutters a lot. Timmy makes him swear that no harm will come to Idzik, and then drops the scene's big bombshell: Omar will be Lemmy's sponsor. Oh, yeah. Great idea, Timbo. Why not just make them live in the maze while you're at it?
In what is now officially the most annoying pod in the entire history of Oz, Omar is ranting about the colossal unfairness of it all. "[McManus] is looking to kick my ass back to solitary," he mumbles, "so he buddies us up and shit, man, you know, knowing there's gonna be motherfucking trouble." Huh? Idzik wants to know why there might be trouble, and then just when you think Omar couldn't possibly get any dumber, he answers, "Because I'm looking to whack you, man!" Idzik admits that he's actually relieved to hear this, because his whole suicidal purpose in coming to Em City was to find someone willing to kill him. Ooh! Ooh! I'll do it! Pick me! Pick me! Me! Me! Me! Damn. Omar is befuddled by this revelation, but then, Omar is befuddled by pretty much everything, so I guess that's not really news. To be honest, I just like using the word "befuddled."
After what must be about the billionth replay of Mayor McEnoughAlready getting his throat slashed, we cha-chung over to the front gate, where -- in an apparent sly shout-out to all the Law & Order jokes I've made about this plotline -- we quickly learn that Lenora Briscoe has been replaced by a new detective. The new guy is sort of a weasel, and he tends to say things like, "Between you, me, and the doorpost, my lieutenant wants me to wrap this stinker up fast, so that's what I'm gonna do." Oy. Shut up, Benjamin Prat. Leo finds it highly suspicious that Lenora would be replaced in the middle of an investigation, but truth be told, it's so damn dark in that hallway that he wouldn't be able to see her even if she was there. You can't even see their faces when they talk, for Christ's sake. Anyway, Ben Prat is so clearly a mole sent by Governor This Little Piggy Went To Jail to supervise a massive cover-up that even Jessica's Mulder action figure manages to tear himself away from Kingpin long enough to glare knowingly in his direction and then die a few times. Further proof of Benny's devious complicity comes when he interrogates Johnson The Blatantly Guilty CO and doesn't even bother to ask more than a few token questions before declaring the man innocent and the matter closed. Powerless in the face of Governor Mary Had A Little Lamb's evil bureaucratic maneuvering, Leo just stands there and seethes with the self-righteous fury that only a truly incompetent prison warden can muster.
And then he summons Devlin's lackey to his office, because if there's one thing Leo does do well, it's make bad situations worse by blabbing about stuff when he should have kept his mouth shut. "I'm starting to really see the potential of the internet," he says, as he repeatedly stabs at his browser's refresh button in the frenzied but ultimately vain hope that someone will open a thread for him in the "Staff" section of the forums. "That fuckwad McManus gets two, and I don't have bubkes," he mutters under his breath, before going on to reveal that he's discovered an online alumni listing which proves that The Little Lackey and Johnson The Blatantly Guilty CO attended the same prep school way back in the day. Oh, that's certainly ample evidence of a criminal conspiracy, wouldn't you say? I mean, what jury wouldn't convict when presented with that little tidbit? Of course, if Johnson really could afford to attend a ritzy private school like that, then it probably wouldn't be all that surprising for him to be driving a Jaguar, now would it? And how exactly did Leo find that page, anyway? Did he just randomly Google a bunch of words out of Johnson's personnel file? Whatever. Say hello to my old friend Prisoner #03J-2600: Contrivance B. Jones. Convicted February 8, 2003 -- Unlawful Suspension of Disbelief. Sentence: Life. Up for parole in 168 minutes. The Little Lackey rises out of his chair to deny everything, and then carefully wends his way through the gaping plot holes on his way out of the office.
Seeing as how we already know that the storage closets, kitchens, medical wards, laundry machines, mailrooms, and telephone lines in Oz aren't monitored or observed by guards in any way, I guess it shouldn't be much of a surprise that The Little Lackey and Johnson The Blatantly Guilty CO meet up in the guards' lounge to loudly discuss their plans to kill both Billy Clyde Tuggle and Warden Glynn with perfect diction and a complete disregard for the possibility that anyone standing outside the WIDE OPEN DOOR that's RIGHT BEHIND THEM might overhear. That must have been the same prep school George W. Bush attended, because it's graduates aren't exactly covering themselves with glory at the moment. And sure enough, the very shot is of Leo, standing over the blood-soaked body of Billy Clyde and hoping against hope that this will be enough to put him over the top in his quest for the coveted Deadliest Prison Not Located In Guatemala Award being handed out at week's banquet. Go get 'em, Leo. You can do it!
Dino pops in to tell us that the third leading cause of death in America is stroke, or, "as they like to call it these days, a 'brain attack.'" Now, I know we had someone who claims to be associated with the show on our forums this week swearing that Jon Seda isn't reading from cue cards in this scene, but I don't believe a word of it. You can practically see his eyes moving, and his performance is flatter than a pre-Colombian map of the Earth that's just been starched and pressed by the local dry cleaners. Seriously, people. I've seen two-by-fours display more emotion.
But have no fear, because we're finally getting to the good stuff in this week's episode. Robson is out of the hole and into Sister Pete's office, where he admits that even though he's returned to his old ways of "bullying, and waving [his] dick around," he still feels badly about mistreating his wife during her visit. "I always swore I'd never lay a hand on Liesel," he says, before adding that if he had it to do over again, he'd "talk" and "hug her" and "stroke her hair," rather than simply "shoving her hand down [his] pants." Aww. See? Robson just wants to cuddle. He's really nothing but a big ol' man-raping teddy bear when you get right down to it, isn't he? Sister Pete slowly draws him out, and gently maneuvers him toward her ultimate goal, which is to have him vocalize what Cutler did to him so that he can accept it and begin healing. Robson tearfully does just that, and then sobs and hides in the corner as she watches him silently.
Aaron: Liesel?
Tom Fontana: So?
Aaron: LIESEL?
Tom Fontana: What's your point?
Aaron: THE HILLS ARE ALIVE WITH THE SOUND OF ASS RAPE!
Tom Fontana: Yeah. That's funny. Would you have preferred "Sherry Bobbins" instead?
Aaron: Well, now that you mention it…
From Robson's tears we dissolve to one of the more powerful scenes in recent memory, as Sister Pete's rape counseling group meets for a session in the empty cafeteria. Each of the prisoners gets a chance to tell his own sordid story, and they detail indignities ranging from being purchased for two cartons of Kools to pulling a six-man train on Thanksgiving Day. Robson somehow manages to refrain from regaling them with The Saga of the Spoon, but the scene is no less disturbing for its absence. It's all very well-acted, and very difficult to recap (what with the image of a middle-aged man getting unwillingly rented out for $3.00 a blow-job not really lending itself to whimsical hilarity), and if nothing else, it's led to me resolve once again that I will never, ever, ever go to prison. Hell, I even just deleted all the mp3s off my hard drive.
Back in Em Ciudad, Alvarez finds Guerra packing up the last of Morales's belongings. They both discuss how they've grown tired of all the senseless violence in Oz, but I'm distracted by the fact that Alvarez is supposed to be peeing in this scene, and the Foley guys have apparently forgotten to add in the appropriate sound effects. Which means it ends up looking like he's just sort of standing there playing with himself, although I do concede the fact that many of you might enjoy the prospect of a visual like that. When Guerra suggests that Alvarez take over the leadership of El Norte, Miguel vehemently refuses. Then he zips up and leaves the pod, only to be intercepted by Officer Murphy, who informs him that Cutler's widow has come to the prison for a surprise visit.
Cut to the visiting room, where Alvarez finally finds the Widow Cutler waiting for him in the last booth. She looks a bit like Lili Taylor's Lisa on Six Feet Under, and not at all like the extra y-chromosomed East German shot-putter you'd have expected Cutler to be married to. She launches into a prepared speech begging Alvarez not to throw her out of house and home, but he soon interjects to say that he has no interest in keeping Cutler's stuff. He is, however, interested in sharing the loooooooove, and they enjoy a long, smoldering stare after he admits (apropos of nothing) that Maritza hasn't been around to visit much lately. Hmmm. Something tells me the Widow Cutler will be calling Liesel for advice on the best lubricants to use for visiting-day hand jobs sometime in the near future.
A grainy, VHS-style flashback of Nurse Nasty leads us into Morales's funeral, which consists of Father Mukada reciting the Lord's Prayer as Alvarez and Guerra load a simple plywood coffin into the back of a U-Haul. Man, where's Rico when you really need him? As if to mock me for all the times I've criticized their lack of lighting this week, this scene actually derives a significant amount of dramatic weight from the fact that it's one of the few times we've ever seen natural sunlight on this show. Once the coffin is safely on board the truck, Alvarez laments the fact that he'll probably get carried out of Oz in much the same fashion in the near future. McManus turns up to insist that he'll be paroled long before that happens, and then proceeds to promptly piss all over very that suggestion by pointing out that Miguel once punched the parole board's newest member right in the nose. There have been too many spoilers posted in the last few days for me to try to pretend I don't know how all of this is going to turn out, so rather than ruin things for those of you strong enough to stay pure, I'm just not going to say anything at all.
Who says murders in Oz never get solved? Dr. Nathan bursts into Leo's office, carrying the results of Morales's autopsy. After she announces that he was suffocated, they each take a moment to ponder who might have had access to kill both Morales and Martinez in such a similar fashion. If you look closely enough, you can actually see the little white mice turning the wheels in Leo's brain as he remembers that Morales reported being frightened by Nurse Nasty. They decide to pull her file, but before they can, Dino takes over to inform us that respiratory disease is the fourth leading cause of death in this country. I think you all know what I have to say about that. Sing it with me, folks: Flick…ahhhhhhhh.
When we come back, Gloria calls Nurse Nasty in for a meeting with her and Leo. They tell her that they've been reviewing her employment history, and that they know she was fired from both Millard Fillmore Hospital in Buffalo, and -- wait for it -- St. Eligius in Boston. Heh. I thought I was all clever for picking up on the subtle St. Elsewhere shout-out there, but then I went on the forums and saw that fifteen people had posted about it before I even finished the recaplet. You kids don't miss much, I'll definitely give you that. Leo announces that the cops are waiting to take Nurse Nasty downtown for questioning, which causes her to try and bolt for freedom despite the fact that she's currently ensconced somewhere deep within the bowels of a maximum security prison. She gets about three steps before a guard throws her against the wall, and the racial epithet she hurls at Gloria is just about the only hint at a motive we're ever going to get from this storyline. It's also probably best to not dwell too much on how it is that Nasty has been working in Oz for longer than the show has been running, but still never bothered to kill anyone before offing two prisoners in as many weeks just a few scant minutes before the final episode. That way lies madness. And plot holes.
Dino makes his fifth and final appearance at this point, sitting pointedly in Hill's wheelchair as he announces that "accidents" are the cause of death on the list. Because no guest narration is complete without an overwrought reference to the end of the world, he also amends his earlier comments to say that "no matter what damn lie you've been told, we're the leading cause of death. Mankind. And there's no cure for us." Except for the mute button, of course. That'll cure anything.
Hell, if you use the mute button on your phone, it'll even cure telemarketers, although I personally consider it to be much more entertaining to mess with their heads a bit before hanging up on them. I once kept an insurance salesman on the phone for almost twenty minutes while I occasionally covered the mouthpiece to shout obscenities at my imaginary wife and smacked the side of my desk a few times to make him think I was beating her. And God bless the guy, because he never once broke stride. In fact, I actually tried to hire him for my own call center, just because he was so perfectly unflappable. Nothing that amusing happens in this scene, however, which pretty much just consists of Business Barbie telling Redding that he's got to go out and find new workers to replace Poet and the others. Barbie still looks pretty cute, although she does lose some points on the intelligence scale for thinking that Oz has more than 28,000 inmates in a single prison. With the death rate we've seen so far, I'd frankly be surprised if they still had more than a few dozen.
Determined not to disappoint the boss, Redding heads to the cafeteria to try recruiting new employees with the promise of a newfound self-respect and free Jell-O during coffee breaks. After getting turned down by Ryan O'Reily (who prefers to stay in the kitchen, because putting ground-up glass into a telephone isn't a very effective way to kill somebody), Crackhead Cosby heads over to the new inmate table and sits down to deliver his pitch. "For all the flak it gets," he says, "a sales position in telemarketing is a fine way to keep yourself active." Um, "active"? You sit in a chair and talk on the phone all day. That six-million-pound guy who's always on Jerry Springer probably gets more exercise than your average phone rep. Pretty much everyone bails as soon as they hear the word "telemarketing," which does at least enable Cosby to elicit a giggle by asking the one remaining guy if he's "gotta go jerk off or something." Heh.
Meanwhile, things aren't going too well for the Muslims, either. Poet and Reggie show up at the product-placement shop to collect their paychecks, and Arif is forced to confess that he doesn't even have enough money to cover the payroll. Cut to our boys wandering through the common area in Em City, Reggie declaring that they simply have to get back into the pudding pop business to put some much needed cash into their pockets. "I'm way ahead of you," announces Poet, who's arranged for a friend named "Sky Bar" to deliver a shipment of the frosty chocolate-flavored treats that very afternoon. Their celebration is put on hold, however, when Pancamo sidles over to report that Sky Bar recently "got run over by a Chevy. Thirty-seven times." Whoops. Farewell, Sky Bar. Such is life in the high-stakes, cutthroat world of illicit gelatin-based dessert distribution.
Crap-Ass Crime Flashback. It's Prisoner #97G-141, Samuel Gougeon. Convicted August 5th, 1997, Manslaughter. Sentence: Nineteen years. Up for parole in ten. If you care, Sammy shot a guy while hunting, and also apparently taped the whole thing on his daughter's Fisher-Price Playskool Baby's First Kamkorder so we could all watch it later.
Back in the present, Sammy is working the phones in the telemarketing center. "Let me tell you about the greatest political campaign of all," he says to the helpless housewife who's too polite to hang up on him. "It's Jesus' love, and God himself is running for office." Heh. And I've also just noticed that this guy looks way too much like Tim Bayliss from Homicide for his own good. When Crackhead Cosby catches him proselytizing on company time, he demands that Sammy perform a special penance, which turns out to involve pouring acid all over Arif's printing press. This causes Arif to come storming into Redding's pod the day, demanding justice and threatening to go to Leo with his accusations. The Cos adopts a weary mien as he explains that no one will be tattling on anyone, because now Arif can collect the insurance on the printing press and make back all the money he and his partners have lost. No matter how hard he tries, Arif will never be able to muster even half the glare Said was capable of, and within thirty seconds he's already telling his fellow Muslims that what happened to their machinery was completely an accident. Wow. Who knew crackheads had that kind of business acumen? Well, besides Ken Lay, that is.
Ahh. At long last, we've finally arrived at the real meat of the episode. From here on out, it's all Cyril, all the time. Of course, this also means we're going to be repeatedly subjected to Hill's overtly political musings on the Supreme Court's recent rulings regarding capital punishment and the mentally retarded, so there is something of a trade-off involved. But with Gloria and Ryan standing practically cheek-to-cheek as they watch Cyril sleep, who can be bothered to care? Despite the fact that, when we last saw these two, Ryan was professing his undying love for her, Gloria remains all business as she suggests that lethal injection might not be the best way for Cyril to be executed. She recommends using the electric chair instead, because Cyril has already been through ECT, and would probably think that the chair isn't all that different from the normal sessions. Except for the part where his usual ECT sessions involve lying on a bed instead of getting strapped into a chair with dozens of people watching, that is. And besides, you could tell Cyril he was going for a pony ride through Candyland with big brother Ryan and a couple of Care Bears, and he'd still probably be giddy with anticipation right up until they shove the needle into his arm. At any rate, Dean Winters scores first dibs on showing the family acting chops as he takes a moment to steel his resolve before heading into the hospital to talk with his brother.
Once there, he pulls up a chair and gets comfy to Cyril's bed. "You want the good news first or the bad news?" he asks, and a groggy Cyril elects to open with the good. Ryan tells him that he'll be going in for his last ECT treatment in a couple of days, and because he's been "such a champ" about the whole thing, they're also going to fix up Cyril's cell with his very own TV, and even provide him with a special meal where he can eat anything he wants. "I can have a fluffernutter?" wonders an incredulous Cyril. "You can have two fluffernutters," replies his mournfully indulgent brother. Hmm. What is it with HBO and fluffernutters as a symbol of familial bonding? It's like they're the new sex and free meat or something. Anyway, the bad news is that Cyril is going to have to cut his hair, which I guess is only bad news if you happen to think Scott is the hotter Winters brother.
Aaron: Fluffernutters?
Tom Fontana: [sigh] Now what?
Aaron: FLUFFERNUTTERS?
Tom Fontana: Well, sometimes I like to put the word "fluffer" into the script, just so the boys think we're doing a nude scene.
Aaron: Yeah. That's…disgusting, actually.
Cut to, well, the cutting. Of Cyril's hair, that is. Some random inmate is doing the honors, and he answers Cyril's question about whether or not the hair will grow back by saying, "Your fingernails are gonna grow down there, too. You're gonna go from Rapunzel to Elvira." Heh. Who is this guy, The Big Black Sex Barber? Ryan hops up to take his own turn with the scissors, and it's difficult to tell whether he's speaking as Ryan or Dean when he says, "I've been wanting to do this for years." He whacks off a big chunk, and then returns to his perch by the wall, where he watches the rest of the proceedings with the lock of hair intertwined through his fingers. A brief montage later, the last of Cyril's hair is shaved away, and he's suddenly even balder than me.
Back in Em City, Jahfree Neema swings by Ryan's pod for a little pre-execution heart-to-heart. Instead of extolling yet again the pudding-pop-free virtues of his sixty-three million billion illegitimate children, Neema chooses this time to praise Ryan for fighting to prevent Cyril's execution. "I admire your efforts," he says, with only the barest hint of the constant condescension we've come to expect. "And I want you to know that in the hour of his death, everyone in Em City will be with you." Now, see, this is where they lost me. Someone in the forums wanted to know when I teared up over this plotline, and while I can certainly admit that it was a fairly emotional ride, the idea that the constantly warring inmates of Em City could unify to stand behind any cause, never mind one led by a pompous ass like Neema, is just beyond any reasonable suspension of disbelief. You're more likely to see Gerhard Schroeder tongue-kissing Donny Rumsfeld than Pancamo, Arif, Alvarez, and Omar all agreeing to stand up for the same inmate. And besides, hasn't Ryan pretty much screwed over every guy in there at one time or another? Why would they ever care what happens to Cyril? Anyway, McManus arrives to bring Ryan up to death row for Cyril's final meal, and Ryan asks for and receives permission to walk through the meditative maze at the precise moment the switch is officially being thrown.
Up on death row, Ryan shuts off Cyril's new TV just as a reporter starts talking about the imminent execution. Cyril, however, is too busy happily stuffing his face with fluffernutters to notice. "Hey!" cries Ryan. "You got your peanut butter in my partially hydrogenated faux-whipped-cream-like substance!" "Nuh-uh," replies Cyril. "You got your partially hydrogenated faux-whipped-cream-like substance in my peanut butter! And then I also think I had an accident in there. Sorry about that." Okay, not really. Cyril just complains about having a stomachache, and Ryan suggests that they both lie down and "get a snooze." They curl up together on the single bed in a position that I would refer to as "spooning" if the word hadn't already been irretrievably ruined for me by this show. But despite the nasty mental image, I'm still betting there's quite a few of you out there who'd just love to be the partially hydrogenated faux-whipped-cream-like substance in THAT particular Winters sandwich. Oh, and there's also a guard sitting outside the cell taking notes on everything they do, which is apparently par for the course on the night before an execution. That'll be important later. Sort of.
You know, the only thing more annoying than an Augustus Hill monologue is an Augustus Hill monologue where he's basically doing nothing but serving as a mouthpiece for the writers' thinly veiled political viewpoints. This time he's bemoaning the lack of consistency in the way the death penalty is applied in different states. Oh, whatever. Shut up, Augustus Sorkin. And stop using the real Sorkin's fact-checkers while you're at it. Iowa doesn't even have the death penalty, you stupid moron.
Thankfully, we're soon returned to Cyril's cell, where Ryan is giving him some last-minute coaching on how to handle the "special" ECT session. Ryan still has that lock of hair wrapped around his finger, and he can barely keep himself together as he explains that a bunch of other people will be there to watch the big event. When Cyril innocently asks if Ryan himself will be among them, Ryan finally loses it for good, and starts sobbing right there in the cell. "Daddy said it's not good for big boys to cry," says a confused Cyril, and Ryan slowly brings himself under control by explaining that Dr. Nathan has diagnosed him with a rare condition that can only be cured by crying. Not even Cyril is fooled by such a lame excuse, but the mounting tension is suddenly broken when he loudly passes some fluffernutter-flavored gas. Both brothers quickly collapse into giggles, and it's quite possibly the strangest and most touching moment in the entire episode. Ahh, the healing power of gas. Nothing says "don't worry about the fact that your loved ones are mere minutes away from a state-sanctioned death" like ripping a nice juicy fart.
Betty Buckley arrives at this point, and does what any good mother would do by pretending not to notice the stench her two boys have whipped up in the confined space of their cell. Ryan calmly asks if she's heard any news from the lawyer, but the instant she steps into the cell to take over the Cyril-watching duties, he bolts out into the hallway and immediately pukes into the nearest bucket. Was it the smell, or merely the tension? You be the judge. While Betty teaches Cyril a short prayer he can say during the "ECT session," Ryan wipes his mouth and offers the guard in the hall a fairly large bribe in exchange for a copy of the notes he's been taking. The scene seems to give the impression that the guard says no, but he does pocket the money, and we later see Ryan reading something that could easily be the notes, so I guess it's sort of ambiguous. After it's announced that their time is up, both Betty and Ryan give Cyril a final hug. If you weren't crying by now, the childlike grin on Cyril's bald head as he engages his brother in a lengthy embrace was probably more than enough to put you over the top. And just in case it wasn't, here comes the guard with Ryan's treasured football jersey, which he's left for his little brother to wear. Cyril gleefully pulls on the shirt, and millions of Americans ponder how to explain to their spouses and significant others why a show that's primarily about anal rape and shankings has suddenly left them sobbing on the living room floor.
Hill lectures some more. Sigh.
We now begin a long inter-cut montage of scenes leading up to the big finish. On death row, Father Mukada leads Cyril to the execution chamber while reciting the 23rd Psalm. Down in Em City, meanwhile, Neema signals all the inmates that it's time, and everyone gets up to return to their pods. Once there, they all begin banging en masse on the pod doors, creating a tremendous racket as Ryan is led out to spend Cyril's final moments in Timbo's meditative maze. As civil disobedience goes, it does provide an impressive glamour shot for Ryan as he walks out past the frantically pounding inmates, but it's also such a blatantly improbable and obvious attempt to tug at my heartstrings that it kind jerks me out of the moment. And then that problem is only compounded further when an ovary starts wailing about sorrow and lost opportunities on the soundtrack, because unlike the sunlight we saw earlier, the unexpected addition of music is way too anvilicious to provide any real sense of gravitas.
The actual execution itself turns out to be sort of a Thirty-Two Short Films About Cyril Getting Fried-type scene, as each of the characters gets his or her own little silent moment to react to what's going on. Sister Pete looks like she got a new perm just for the occasion. Dr. Nathan looks like she's conflicted about watching the execution of the man who killed her husband (wow. Say hello to my other old friend, Prisoner #03S-6610: Continuity Q. Steinberg. Convicted February 8, 2003 -- Drunk and Disorderly. Sentence: Three days (suspended). Up for parole in sixty seconds). Ryan paces the meditative maze. Cyril smiles as he helps the guards buckle him into the chair. Leo looks sadly resigned, especially after Cyril's last words turn out to be "Huh?" And then, just when you think you can't take the tragedy of it all anymore, the red bat-phone in the back of the room starts to ring, and suddenly Leo steps forward to announce that Cyril has received a stay, and the execution has been cancelled.
In case you're curious, here's a roughly transcribed version of my actual response while watching the episode: "What?! You're shitting me, right? All that for nothing? If you're gonna run me through the wringer for thirty minutes, Fontana, you damn well better fry that fucker. So, come on! Let's go! Fire up Ol' Sparky and let's get this motherfucking show on the road!"
Yeah. I've calmed down a bit since then, but I still think it was a total cop-out. Although someone in the forums did point out the dramatic irony that would be inherent in having poor Cyril live on in Oz if Ryan were to suddenly come to a bad end instead, so I guess I could deal with it if that's the route they chose to take. But once again, the spoilers prevent me from saying anything else, and besides, it's 4:00 AM, and I really want to go to bed. Hell, I can barely even remember eating that bacon I was talking about in the opening paragraph.
So anyway, we wrap things up with one last Augustus Interlude, made all the more enjoyable by the fact that he calls us all retards. Right to our faces, no less. No wonder nobody likes this guy. And then we cut to Ryan's pod, where he sets down Father Salty Shitpants's Bible and looks up to the heavens to offer an ardent "thank you" to God for saving his brother's life. Fade to black.
Only two more to go, kids. Make sure you place your death pool bets soon. There's gonna be a lot of possibilities to choose from.