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Prison Break, there is no need to be jealous of Lost! You don't have to spend an entire episode on flashbacks where we find out the freaky little connections between characters. It smells like a season-stretching, plot-stalling maneuver.
However, to those of you writing these characters' biographies, here's what you need to know: Dr. Sara used to be a dope fiend until some kid's death in the street -- which she could have prevented if she hadn't been channeling Jennifer Connolly in Requiem for a Dream -- scared her straight. She then met Bellick in N.A., he hipped her to the job post at Fox River, and asked her out in a scene that actually made me feel sorry for the poor guy. (And for that, Prison Break powers that be, I will never forgive you.)
Meanwhile, we learn that T-Bag was nabbed while he was going through an exploratory phase -- i.e. dating full-grown women. Sucre got sent to the pokey thanks to a fiendish combination of a high-maintenance woman, a back-stabbing cousin, and more class issues than Gosford Park. And C-Note got the second-rawest deal out of the bunch: the former army supplies sergeant (and bootlegger) followed his conscience and reported some prisoner abuse while he was over in the sandbox, got drummed out of the Army, then turned to a life of crime to support the family. Oh, C-Note, yours is such a tragic story.
But the rawest deal belongs to Lincoln. Not only is he into someone for $90K, it turns out that money funded Michael's education and the pre-felonious Michael is something of an insufferable prick. To erase the debtâ¦well, you know. And once Veronica righteously smacks Michael around a little, we see him prepping his big plan.
up: an episode where Team Escarpara has to keep pressing buttons on a computer every few minutes or else polar bears eat them. Want more? The full recap starts right below!
I would normally start out this recap with something like, "Previously, on Prison Break…" except this episode is even more "previously" than the ones, as it consists solely of flashbacks into many of the main characters' lives prior to their arrival at Fox River.
Whether any of the information in this episode will come in handy is anyone's guess. Speaking personally, I think it's filler and a lazy way to cram in a lot of characterization before cranking the plot gears and pointing the show toward the inevitable May sweeps escape. Also, I am irked that the writers didn't see fit to give a little sugar to Westmoreland. However, I realize that others of you feel differently about flashback episodes, so on with the recap…
Three years ago: we see a sleeping Linc's face, and hear Michael ask him if he had a rough night. Linc tells him he lost his keys. Michael contemptuously tosses a set down to his seated brother, but the whole effect is ruined by the earmuffs he's wearing. Dork! Personally, I'm curious as to how it is Linc managed to pass out in his own doorway without suffering either hypothermia or a trip downtown courtesy of the police, but I suppose that realism would have cost us the opportunity to see Michael shine off his brother's offer for lunch. Linc is all, "I have to talk to you about something," but Michael is adamant that he's too busy. However, he does have a few moments to say disgustedly, "I heard you got fired a few weeks ago. What was it this time?" Linc gives him a forlorn look before asking, "You really want to know? Or are you just enjoying the view from the high horse?" Michael snots back, "You know what I'd like? To not have to be the older brother to my older brother." I'd like you not to wear pop-on earmuffs, but we can't always get what we want, can we, Michael?
After Michael stalks off, Linc lets himself into his apartment. It's very nicely decorated for someone who's supposedly down on his luck. When Linc walks into his living room, he sees that he's got company. And Crab didn't even let Linc in? That is just cold. Linc tells Crab he'll get him the $90,000 he owes him, and Crab tells him that debt's already been paid. Linc wants to know who the benefactor was, and some dude in a baseball cap walks over and says, "Someone who likes to do people favors." Perhaps the biggest favor Bo could have done was bring Linc inside earlier. Linc looks like he's thinking this too.
We cut to a bar, the kind of place where the décor is much more interesting and original than the hordes of suit-wearing patrons knocking back their scotch on the rocks. One of Michael's coworkers asks him who he'd rather boff: Vice-President Caroline Reynolds (whom we see live on Fox News; make of that what you will) or "Kathy in HR." Michael replies, "I'll take whatever's behind door number three." The coworker presses for an actual answer, and Veronica slides up to say, "The chick in HR. Michael never cared much for blondes." Michael actually gives Veronica an honest smile and says hi; she asks how he is. They make a little small talk -- the coworker drifts off without even trying to introduce himself, and Michael doesn't even notice -- and then Veronica asks how Lincoln is. Michael's all, "You guys haven't talked?" Veronica tells him it's been a few years, lightly adding, "He kind of dropped off the radar." She asks again and Michael gropes for an answer before smiling ruefully, concluding, "He's Linc," then knocking back his drink. It's too bad that it looks like whiskey, because how awesome would it be if Michael was unabashedly into girl drinks with props, like mai tais with pineapple spears and plastic monkeys hanging off the side?
Meanwhile, Linc is busy telling Bo he's philosophically opposed to killing. Bo inquires as to whether Linc's philosophically opposed to dying. As they're talking, we hear a guy logging the details of Linc's appearance, down to the missing button on his leather jacket and the stain on the left knee of his jean. Bo argues that Linc will actually be doing the world a favor by killing this guy, and he'll be free of a $90,000 debt as well. Bo adds, "Keep me from finding out if there's someone in your life you will do something for." Linc looks grim, but the sudden sag of his jaw broadcasts his answer.
We then flash to a hospital, where Dr. Sara is charging around the halls. Her hair's down, which always bugs me: you're working in an E.R. around people gushing fluids, and you're not worried about anything getting in your 'do. ["Or germing up a wound by dropping a hair in it." -- Sars] Anyway, some other dude in a doctor coat tells her that "they're waiting for you in 4B," and Dr. Sara tells him she'll be there soon enough. She heads into a medical supply cabinet, swipes her access card, and grabs a bottle of morphine that appears to have been hidden behind some other medications. We see her expertly tie off and inject herself, then nod out in the supply room. So Dr. Sara was into sweet lady H? Who knew? Other than all of you who live in the spoilers thread, I mean. I wonder if she's been backsliding -- have y'all noticed how she's wearing a lot of long sleeves lately?
Meanwhile, at Al-Jabar AFB, Kuwait, we establish that it's damn hot. Within seconds, we also establish that this has no effect on the ice in a coffin, or the cold and frosty beers contained within. Commander Meyers says smarmily, "Sergeant Franklin, you never cease to amaze me. Is there nothing you can't get?" Other than a non-weaselly supervisor, it would appear not. Meyers says, "A deal's a deal. Prison guard duty. Far from the front, safest place you could be." Sgt. Franklin -- whom we all know and love as C-Note -- gives low, fervent thanks, adding, "My wife and daughter back home thank you too, sir."
Cut to Veronica striding through an office that belongs in one of those software commercials promising the fantasy of fulfilling work in fabulous settings once you load their products onto their machines. She is wearing a very nice, delphinium blue overcoat, and I mention this because for all of the other crimes of aesthetics the wardrobe, hair, and makeup people commit with this character, whomever's watching out for Veronica's outerwear has never gone astray.
Anyway, Veronica walks through this, the office of tomorrow, and surprises Michael in his corner office. She asks if he's been watching the news, and Michael asks, "Why?" Veronica says, "It's Lincoln." Michael blinks, still half-smiling. It's not clear whether he's not surprised ("Of course it is. I've always known he'd be on FOX News, and not as one of the pundits.") or in a little bit of shock.
Fortunately, by the time he's visiting Lincoln, Michael's over any shock and indecision and into the hectoring phase: "Terrence Steadman? The Vice President's brother. Do you have any idea what they're going to do to you?" Lincoln insists that he was set up. Michael breaks the news that Linc actually knew Steadman, since the guy owned the company from which Lincoln was recently fired. Linc says heatedly, "I loaded containers in the warehouse, never met the guy -- what the hell, Mike! You sound like one of the damn detectives." Michael pulls the "I'm just saying" move, and Linc realizes that Michael thinks he actually did it. Michael then says, "I heard you owe some money." Lincoln pauses for a long moment before asking who told Michael. The supercilious little snot says, "People talk. And I know Steadman had a lot of money." Linc heatedly protests, "I may be a lot of things, but I'm not a murderer." Michael points out that Linc was in that garage last night, then sighs and says disgustedly, "I don't know how it's come to this. And you can't keep blaming Mom for dying, and Dad for leaving, because I was there too. Difference is, I got out. Mom had life insurance and I took my half and put myself through school. What'd you do with your half, Linc?" For a moment, a rueful little smile plays over Lincoln's face, and he's nearly shaking. Then he suppresses whatever it was he was about to say and just looks down. When Lincoln finally composes himself again, he says, "Everything's not how it looks, Michael." Completely oblivious to the passion play on his brother's face, Michael says angrily, "I hope, for your sake, that's true."
And as y'all know, I am not necessarily the biggest fan of Lincoln or of Dominic Purcell's acting, but he just owned the scene here. It's some seriously layered, nuanced work, and it doesn't beat you over the head all, "Look! I'm acting! See my fantastic effort!" and it goes a long way toward redeeming a lot of the season's prior work, because it shows the difference between a guy who's fighting to keep a handle on his emotions, and one who's trying to suffocate them so he won't mind dying for all the wrong reasons.
We then cut to Brinker going over a speech with Vice President Reynolds, pointing to a spot on the paper and saying, "Here is where you turn to anger." Madame Vice President says, "Trust me, that won't be a problem." Brinker then lays out the strategy: relentlessly paint Lincoln in a bad light so he'll be put to the death. Madame Vice President asks where they are with Gov. Tancredi, and Brinker assures her that he won't be a problem, owing to his own political aspirations.
Back in an office of the future ("In the future, we will all have abundant natural light instead of fluorescent bulbs that make us look jaundiced"), Veronica is fretting about how the papers have already judged Lincoln and found him guilty. Michael snaps, "He was into someone for ninety grand. What'd he need that kind of money for? Drugs? Bribes? Forget about what you want to be true and look at this objectively." Veronica points out that Michael could stand to take his own advice. Michael smugs that he is. Veronica's had enough. She tells him, "I promised I wouldn't say anything, but I'm getting tired of you talking about him like he's some guy from the neighborhood. He's your brother --" Michael points out that he knows that, and he knows that Linc helped Veronica out with her dad back in the day, but he's obviously a sleazeball now. Veronica asks, "Do you know what the ninety grand was for?" Michael snots, "I think I do." Veronica snaps, "You." This actually gets Michael's attention. Veronica explains, "The money you got when you were eighteen from your mother's life insurance? The money that paid for your degree, that got you this job, that bought you your loft? Your mother never had life insurance. That money came from Lincoln." Michael doesn't quite believe her. He asks how, and Veronica explains, "He borrowed it. He knew it'd be tough to pay it back, but that didn't matter, because he thought you deserved it. He also knew you'd never accept it if you thought it came from him. Michael, you are where you are because of your brother." Michael prefers to see it from a different angle: "You're telling me he is where he is because of me."
Commercials. Why must Diet Pepsi commercials be so consistently tacky? Jay Mohr and Jackie Chan are not imbuing that beverage with anything that can reasonably be construed as cred.
When we get back, Michael's visiting Lincoln again, asking why Linc never told him about the money. Linc shrugs that there's no need to, then moves on to grill Michael about Veronica. Michael merely replies, "You know how she feels about you. It's been the same way since we were kids." Linc restrains himself from asking, "So does that mean she likes me likes me, or just likes me?" Michael finally 'nads up and apologizes: "The night you called, if we talked, maybe I could have stopped you --" "Hey, hey, hey, it isn't your fault," Linc interrupts. He then tells Michael to forget about this and move on. Michael tells him, "I can't do that." Linc says seriously, "Oh, yes, you can. And you will."
As Michael says, "Here's the part I don't understand: all the evidence is lining up in a path that leads directly to you. They say they have you on tape, pulling the trigger. If you didn't kill Terence Steadman, how the hell did someone make it look like you did?" The answer: when you have the resources of a vast government conspiracy at your disposal -- and a copy of Photoshop -- it's easy to send a man up the river. We see all the doctored evidence here.
Sucre and his three cousins are talking a walk on a brisk winter day. Sucre's gushing about Maricruz. The minute he admits that she's not a local girl but from "uptown, Pill Hill," Hector's got his opening. He laughs contemptuously and asks, "You think you can hold on to a girl from the P.H.?" I bet Hector's the relative everyone dreads seeing at family get-togethers because he puts on airs about how he's bettering himself. Sucre says he'll woo Maricruz with a dinner someplace really nice. Hector scoffs, "Come on, Fernando. How are you going to afford someplace like that?" Sucre could start by selling some of the many gold chains around his neck. Or maybe he could reject the fallacy that you have to woo classy women with classy dinners at classy restaurants; if Maricruz is really all that, she'll be fine with whatever Sucre can swing. The question's always been whether Maricruz really is all that, or if her inner life has been furnished solely by Pottery Barn.
Cut to a sprightly sequence playing on the Muzak in a convenience store. The owner's just minding his own business when Sucre comes in, sticks a gun in his nose, and orders him to open the drawer. The owner complies. He is so rattled by the gun that he fails to notice how nervous Sucre is. The convenience store dude cleans out the cash register and holds the messy pile of cash out to Sucre. Sucre looks at it, and pulls off a $100, saying, "Actually, this is all I need." What? Take the whole damn stash, fool! This way you don't have to knock over another convenience store. Sucre is not strong on strategery, is he? (That's okay, papi. It looks like the guy who inspired that portmanteau word isn't either.) He takes off, and the convenience store owner's like, "What just happened there?"
Out in the sandbox, C-Note's telling someone he appreciates their business, and promises to deliver whatever it is he'll have by week. He keeps walking through the prison, but his rounds are interrupted by the raw screams of someone being tortured. C-Note heads down the hall and sees a prisoner restrained in a chair, bucking against his bonds as he writhes in agony. To C-Note's credit, he looks completely taken aback.
Back in the States, Michael is brooding in his office of the future. We see him reviewing Linc's case notes, and as he goes to put the folder in his desk drawer, he sees a brown paper origami crane. The case folder stays out.
It's a sunny afternoon in a pretty Chicago neighborhood, and Dr. Sara is walking with her boyfriend, whom I will dub Sid. "I got you a gift from the hospital," she intones each time she hands over another bottle of morphine. Okay, here I am suspending my incredulity over the prospect of anyone just waltzing out of a hospital dispensary with four bottles of liquid morphine. However, I am still boggled that her idea of "Hey, you! Thanks for being you!" gift is a big ol' load of dope. What will Dr. Sara get Sid for Christmas? A lump of black-tar heroin the size of a bowling ball? Several acres of opium poppies in Afghanistan?
He says happily, "It's like Christmas and you work at the North Pole." Dr. Sara begins listing all the crap that goes down at the North Pole -- gun shot wounds, et cetera -- and Sid says, "I don't know how you work there." You may not have to be stoned to the gills, but it helps, I guess. It also helps when dealing with either of these two; they're both very, very high. Dr. Sara insists, "I like to help people," and some kid goes by on his bike. Sid tells her, "You like helping yourself. And you like helping your friends." What, like there's no altruistic doctor junkies around? Is that the message here? Dr. Sara and Sid mack for a while, and as they're kissing, we hear a horn, the screech of tires on an icy street, and the dread thud of a body hitting a car bumper. This penetrates the fog of hormones and heroin enveloping Dr. Sara, and she looks up. She walks over slowly, intoning, "Oh my God," over and over. A crowd's gathering around the kid, all trying to act quickly, and we get the junkie's-eye take on the whole thing: it's like it's happening underwater. This is why, despite a woman noticing Dr. Sara's badge and repeatedly asking for help, all Dr. Sara can do is stand there and stare until Colin pulls her away. She eventually falls to her knees. This must be when she officially hits rock bottom. You can tell because not only did a kid die, it looks like Dr. Sara hasn't washed her hair in a week.
C-Note walks into a tent and salutes, and Commander Meyers tells him he's at ease. C-Note tells him, "The whiskey that you ordered, sir, will be here in a couple of days." I like the way he deftly mixes military manners into decidedly non-military black-market activities. Meyers tells him he actually brought C-Note in to talk about something else, namely that pesky little prisoner abuse report he wrote about the torture at the Kuwaiti prison. How far is C-Note willing to go? C-Note says, "Whatever it takes, sir. I particularly have no love for the desert donkeys, but I do for the Geneva Convention." Meyers says that any news of U.S. troops torturing prisoners would likely lead to retaliation. Then you'd think the smartest thing would be to just not torture at all, instead of putting your own troops in an eye-for-an-eye situation, wouldn't you? C-Note points out, "I'm not planning on calling a press conference. What I'm saying is, what I saw was wrong. And someone needs to take responsibility" For his moral clarity, C-Note is arrested and dishonorably discharged for smuggling. Meyers watches C-Note get dragged off, thereby insuring that his own behind won't be held responsible for the wrongdoing.
Speaking of being sent up the river unjustly, it's Linc's sentencing. We get a flashback sequence where a young Michael watches young Lincoln and young Veronica twine hands. In the present, Michael says fervently, "I'm so sorry, Linc." Ever the big brother, Lincoln tells him, "Don't be. It's not your fault."
While all this is going on, Sucre and Maricruz are in her swanky neighborhood, in her swanky bedroom, enjoying the afterglow. He begins simpering something along the lines of "After we make love…" and that is where he loses me, because if there's one phrase in the language that I would ban for its incredible smurfiness, it's "make love." I always wonder if really spiteful sex would be euphemistically referred to as "making hate," or if pity sex is "making ambivalence." Anyway, the upshot to this scene is that Maricruz wants to know what Sucre's ambitions are, and she's not going to settle for an answer like, "What I really want to do with my life -- what I want to do for a living -- is I want to be with you. I'm good at it."
C-Note's back in Chicago, and he must have done some extremely persuasive talking, because his wife is still blissfully ignorant of the circumstances in which he came home. And while I respect that C-Note was willing to get booted from the military rather than back down on his convictions, I do not respect that he just dropped the whole damn issue, because if he felt so strongly about prisoner welfare that he's willing to take the stand, the first damn thing he should have done when he got home was called a lawyer, and the second thing he should have done was call someone at the Chicago Tribune and explain why it is that the same people who benefited from his smuggling suddenly had problems with it.
Anyway, C-Note and Darius are hanging at an El station. Darius is like, "I thought the whole point to the military was to give you mad job skillz," and C-Note is like, "Didn't teach me nothin' but cadence and kill." Also, that dishonorable discharge is making it hard to find a legitimate job. Darius points out that the lie C-Note's told Kacee -- he's on leave -- is wearing mighty thin, and he happens to know of an employment opportunity. C-Note replies, "You know I don't get down like that," and Darius protests, "It's driving a truck! A to B! That's it. Uncle Sam taught you to drive trucks in the sand, didn't he?" C-Note rolls his eyes and replies, "Yeah, and they also taught me to look inside." Darius boils it down: "It might be illegal, but it's also rent. A to B."
Michael's visiting with Lincoln and enumerating all the ways in which the trial went wrong. Lincoln asks, "What part of 'move on' don't you get?" Michael explains why he can't: "After Mom died, when it was just you and me, I remember having trouble sleeping, never knowing where you were." Where he was? Most likely eluding CPS, as both boys were incredibly young when Ms. Scofield died, if flashbacks mean anything. But what's one more nitpick on a timeline that clearly has no relation to linear time at all? Michael continues, "But when I'd wake up in the morning, there'd be this paper bird, an origami crane, sitting to my bed. And I never knew what it meant exactly, but I knew it was your way of letting me know that you were checking in on me." Linc looks touched that Michael noticed this, much less remembered it. Michael smiles a little and continues, "Anyway, I looked it up. The Crane? It stands for familial obligation, watching out for your own. Maybe it's my turn to watch out for you." You can practically hear Lincoln thinking, What is the POINT of RUINING MY LIFE for you if you're only going to get involved, you IDIOT?
Michael says he'll visit the same time tomorrow, and that's when Linc drops the news that he's about to be transferred to Fox River. Whirrr! Be very quiet -- it's the sound of backstory machinery whirring along.
Commercials. So what is the most inadvertently hilarious element of The Sentinel -- the manly hoarse-off between the voices of Kiefer Sutherland and Michael Douglas, or Eva Longoria trying to play the role of a Secret Service agent? No, wait -- there's something even more inadvertently hilarious about this commercial block: it features recruitment ads for the U.S. military. Right after the segment suggesting that the same military is fond of punishing those who insist it, you know, not torture people for the hell of it. Well done again, media buyers!
When we get back from commercials, a woman named Susan is bustling around getting ready for dinner. She tells the kids to set an extra place because Mommy's friend is coming home from dinner. The boy lips off, "Again?" and the girl sees a chance to score points with her mom by helpfully piping up that she likes Mommy's friend. Susan directs the kids to be extra polite because Mommy's friend is stopping by Malarkey's on the way from work and bringing dinner. And there he is now. Susan opens the door…
…and it turns out Mommy's friend is T-Bag. He smiles almost shyly, as if nervous, and says, "Evenin', Miss Hollander. Don't you look lovely this evenin'."
Back at the office of the future, Michael is stealing the Fox River blueprints of the past.
Sucre is hanging out with his cousins on a back stoop. It's still snowy. I have no sense of how much time has elapsed in any of these developments, and it's irritating me, because now Sucre's talking about proposing to Maricruz and I am quite curious to know if this has been a whirlwind courtship or if he's gotten into a routine of knocking over convenience stores for dates or what. Anyway, Hector the underminer wants to know when Sucre will propose. Sucre says, "As soon as I can afford the ring," and Hector snarks, "So what is that -- ten, twenty years." You know, if I didn't think Hector was so incredibly odious, I'd have some grudging admiration for his patience and the deft, bloodless way in which he manipulates his cousin. Sucre wants to know why Hector can't be happy for him, and Hector insincerely protests that he's just trying to protect Sucre from the moment when Maricruz flips on the easy-listening station and realizes she is not, in fact, getting tired of her high-class toys and all her presents from her uptown boys. Captain Calories hops in and asks, "How you gonna afford a ring for a girl like that?"
Cue the sprightly Muzak of the convenience store. Hee! Sucre comes in to knock it over again, and as he's leaving, the flashing lights indicate that the cops are already there. As Sucre's led away to the car, we see Hector on the street, 911 still on his cell phone. Ooh, he is such a snake!
Meanwhile, in Madame Vice President's office, she's asking Kellerman if anyone's asking any questions. He assures her, "Not loud enough to hear." Madame Vice President says, "I can't remember the last time I was this much of a nervous wreck," and Kellerman affectionately says, "School board, second term, 1992." She laughs. I am totally curious as to the backstory between these two. Kellerman hands over a listing for a "Montana mansion," and tells her, "Secluded, no access roads, and perfect for what you're looking for. Only one problem: it's over two million dollars." Madame Vice President displays a flash of the calculating streak we've all come to know and love, and asks, "Didn't my brother Terrence leave me anything in his will?" Without looking at her -- but smiling in bemusement -- Kellerman deadpans, "Ask your accountants, ma'am." Madame Vice President says, "Tell them to use that money. I'm paying for his mistake. He can pay for the damn house."
We go to a twelve-step meeting and Dr. Sara's busy telling the group, "I've been clean for 18 months now. I'll tell you, I've never been happier. Actually, that might be the wrong word. I'll be honest, there were times when I was using that I felt pretty darn happy. But what I feel is different now." We see her pulling her sleeves down over her fingers, then sitting on her hands before adding, "I feel joy. So here I am. I know that all I can do every day is the right thing. And I think for me right now, that means going back to work." And continuing to wash your hair, I hope. She is now in the pink of health, looking like the Dr. Sara we all know. Sara gropes around for what her career move is going to be, concluding, "I want to help people get from where I've been to where I am."
As she's getting coffee a little later, she's approached by none other than Bellick. Speaking in a much less belligerent tone than we're used to, he says, "You used to be a doctor, right?" "I still am," she says somewhat distantly. But it's offset when she smiles and asks, "Why?" "I was just thinking, I might know a job opening where I work," Bellick says. We quickly establish that it's at Fox River, and Bellick says, "I know it seems like a strange idea, but maybe you and I could, uh...maybe we could, uh...talk about it over dinner. I got a gift card to the Red Lobster over off the Interstate." And...oh, gosh, do y'all have any idea how hard it is to type this scene out while trying to watch it through my fingers?
Dr. Sara utters, "Oh, my God," without thinking, then quickly realizes it, so she warmly thanks Bellick, then tries to let him down gently with "tonight's a night to work on my résumé." This is so awkward. Bellick tries to recover gamely with, "Oh. Of course." And as Sara continues to thank him, we see something in his face just sort of flicker out, and a mask slips into place. It's a tremendous credit to Wade Williams that he makes Bellick appear so sympathetic: your average, socially-retarded lunkhead and not the walking casserole of venality we all know and loathe today. It makes the character so much more opaque. I can't help but wonder if Bellick made an active turn for evil after Pretty Doctor Lady turned him down, or if it's been there all along and simply lay dormant during N.A. meetings. I sort of love how the performance leaves it open to interpretation.
(What I unequivocally love: how we have all been indoctrinated to hate him so thoroughly that the minute the episode was over, people on the forums were like, "I bet he is just the kind of disgusting pig who would hit 12-step meetings to pick up girls.")
And now, Michael is starting in on the mural of prison-break planning. You will find this sort of thing riveting only if you like those sequences in Trading Spaces where everyone cleans up in fast-forward and acts all goofy during it.
And now, C-Note's about to get busted. We see him glance down at a picture of the wife and kid, as if to remind himself that there's a reason he's doing this, and it's all very sentimental and I get how many of the themes here seem to be about the insane stuff we do for our families, but I still think if he had come out with his story, he wouldn't be in this situation. And in the time it takes me to type this out, C-Note's been busted.
Meanwhile, T-Note's trying to secure his position with the kid who likes him by telling her, "You know, math was never my best subject either. But I got through it by learning some new tricks." Ooh, are we going to see the one where we learn how you can always tell if a number's divisible by three by adding up all its digits and seeing if the sum's divisible by three? Or the one where we learn how you can tell if a number's divisible by seven by doubling the last digit, subtracting it from the rest of the number, then seeing if that result is also divisible by seven?
No -- it's a whole new one. T-Bag holds up both hands, all fingers out. He folds down his pinky and prods, "Nine times one is…" Gracie looks at his nine splayed fingers and answers, "Nine." T-Bag folds down a second finger and asks for the answer to nine times two. Gracie counts the eight splayed fingers and realized it's eighteen. And they continue on through -- the folded fingers representing multiplicands and the outstretched fingers representing the second digit of each result. Well, it's no Chisenbop, but whatever works.
As Gracie shares the news with Susan, we see T-Bag looking awfully smitten. It's not clear with whom, exactly. Susan sends Gracie off to show her brother, the better to thank T-Bag by planting a big kiss on him. I just have to wonder: is the dating pool in the greater Chicago area really so shallow as to make him appear the catch? As Susan walks back in, T-Bag appears to be steeling himself against something (or for something…), and he turns to watch Gracie showing the math trick to her brother. Susan resumes doing the dishes -- just in time to see a segment of America's Most Wanted prominently featuring her dreamy new boyfriend.
Michael is quizzing himself on the blueprints and the plans: he's covered his wall o' clues in index cards and is trying to see if he's memorized the correct sequences. Going by his frustrated responses, it's apparent he's not remembering everything he needs to. Eventually, Michael throws the index cards down in disgust and stalks over to answer the doorbell.
It's a delivery chick with the food, and as Michael takes his dinner, he's mesmerized by her incredibly detailed tattoos. They really are gorgeous, snaking down both arms and across her chest. I'm always in awe of people who totally commit to skin art, not only because they're getting something permanent on their skin, but because there's something they feel strongly enough about to have put on there in the first place.
Anyway, the delivery girl manages to ignore the flashing light bulb that just went off over Michael's head and asks if he wants his change. He tells her to keep it. As we go to commercials, Michael's brain is whirring. And while I appreciate the tattoo origin story, you're going to tell me it took a tattooed lady to give Monsieur Left Brain the idea? What self-respecting geek wouldn't be familiar with steganography? Or the crypto-embroidery plot device in Quicksilver? From thence, it's a quick leap to figuring out how to encode the information so it's easy to remember and difficult to detect. You'd think someone who's geeky and has the low-latency thing going for him would have thought of this already.
Commercials. Oh, look. Microsoft thinks we're all headed for the offices of the future. Only once you get a monopoly on external working environments, my Redmond friends. And in keeping with moments in media-purchasing genius: there's a car commercial for the Ford Escape.
When we get back, C-Note is prepping himself for telling his beloved Kacee and their daughter Dede something. He starts out telling Kacee, "I got to tell you something, and it's going to be really hard to hear." We see Darius eavesdropping, looking wracked with remorse. C-Note eventually stammers out that he's being shipped back off. Kacee's surprised, and Darius is shaking his head all, I do not BELIEVE that man! Dede stomps all over C-Note's heart by flinging herself in his arms and pleading, "Tell them no, Daddy!" and C-Note is nearly in tears. Ah, man, you are KILLING me, Prison Break. Darius asks if he can interrupt this tender tableau with a chore out back, and when C-Note joins him on the back deck, Darius says indignantly, "That's my sister you're lying to there!" I love it -- this reminds me of the The Wire episode "Slapstick" where all the drug dealers are totally outraged by the shooting that's knocked off an old lady's church hat. Anyway, C-Note points out that he fully expects Darius to take care of Kacee and Dede when he's gone, especially since C-Note took the rap for the truck. C-Note says fiercely, "She married a military man who knows how to take care of his business. Now, if I look like one of these thugs, what do you think she's going to do? How long do you think she's going to wait for me while I'm on the inside? Don't you ever let her know where I am. Do you feel me?"
Michael is now designing his tattoo. We see him work several phrases into the blueprints: "Cute Poison," "English Fitz Percy," "Ripe Chance Woods," and "bolshoi booze." The calligraphy in the last phrase is so stylized, it can be read upside-down as . No doubt this will come in handy later.
Then he heads off to Mexico, and there's some ambiguous negotiation with the token Swarthy Guy With An Accent, but he is soon subdued by the Blue Steel and so slides over a piece of paper. Swarthy Guy With An Accent warns, "You show this to anyone else, I'm calling the whole thing off."
The camera pulls back to the tattoo design, highlights the phrase "Ripe Chance Woods," and then we transition to the snowy woods on an evening. Whose woods these are, I do not know. The camera seeks to stop here, though. We see Michael standing at a grave; his shovel bites into the snow.
We go back to the Wall O' Plan one more time so we can see some clippings of Abruzzi and an ad for Czechoslovakian mail-order brides, with the ad strategically placed to a notation about a water main leak. We see some clippings about Pope, then Michael making notes about Pugnac.
Cut to Susan in the prison waiting room. T-Bag is escorted into the big mesh cage to see her. For a moment, he almost looks concerned at her appearance. Susan says brokenly, "My therapist said...she said I'm holding too much in. And that I need to confront you to let you know how betrayed I feel." T-Bag is watching impassively as Susan says, "I let you into my life, my home...my god, I let you near my children." T-Bag says very low and emphatically, "I never touched them." Then he makes it all about him. "You think you're the only one who feels betrayed? I loved you, Susan. Real love, for the first time in my life," he says. And then chokes back a suitably dramatic sniffle. Then, voice breaking, T-Bag continues, "And then, and then? To treat me like that, to just throw me out, just toss me out the back door --" Susan points out that T-Bag happens to be something of a child-molesting serial killer. T-Bag bellows, "That's enough." His face is now hard and set in a familiar, deadly expression. Wow, some people really don't take the "I don't want to be friends" speech well. T-Bag says, "I have sinned in the past. But when I met you, that person, the one who did all those terrible things, he died. I was reborn. By the grace of your love, I was a new man. A better man." Susan's not buying it. T-Bag grits, "When you sent me here to this place, with these people, it brought that old dirty bastard right back home. Like there was a candle in the window, just waiting for me to walk up them front steps." Then he lowers his head and gives Susan a really creepy look. He promises her, "I'm gonna get out of here someday. And when I do, don't think I won't remember what your front steps look like." I'm thinking after the way that went, perhaps what the therapist should have suggested is that Susan practice a little more repression. Susan spits on the window, then storms off to put her house on the market. T-Bag looks at the spit and thinks, "Well, here's my Season Two plotline, all wrapped up and presented for my approval."
So remember back at the beginning of the series, when Madame Vice President was known as the Martha Stewart of the West because she was constantly chopping things? It turns out all those vegetables she was chopping were for the smoothies she's making for Steadman. He's got no teeth, what with them having been pulled to make for a more convincing fake body. Madame Vice President tells Steadman, "It's almost over. Burrows will be dead soon, and things will start getting back to normal. I know that you've been through a lot, but I promise you, the worst is behind us." Steadman deigns to put in his teeth so he can say, "My dear sister, you have no idea what I've been through."
Now we see Michael prepping for his big day of knocking over banks and getting caught. He almost breaks down as he fastens his tie; it's struck him that this is the last time he'll put on a tie as a member of upstanding society, and the scope of what he's about to lose is hitting him full-on. Then Michael steels himself. We see Linc looking at an origami swan. Michael picks up his guns, his hand shaking over one before he wills it to work, and he walks out.
So! The parallels between Madame Evil's actions and Michael's are uncanny, yes? Subverting "the system" for family obligations and bailing out your brother at your own expense...gosh, it's not so much a battle of good versus evil as it is gray versus grayer. Well played, Prison Break writers; well played.