The camera pans along the street on which Attention Deficit Manor is located. Moody guitar music plays softly. Jay puts down the phone like he's just heard some devastating news, and shuffles into the living room. Mike is sitting there doing nothing, so Jay tells Mike that he's not going to be able to stage his play at The Fortune Theater. "It has to be totally low-profile," says Jay. "Isn't that a bitch?" Excuse me, but wasn't that already determined in Episode Seven when the Artistic Director of the Fortune told you that you'd need several hundreds of thousands of pounds to produce a play at any West End theater? Did you actually think that someone would cough up the money? Did you honestly think you'd go from winning a young writer's contest in the backwoods of Oregon to seeing a play of yours open on London's West End within the five months that you're in the city when you've spent most of said five months on your ass in front of the TV? In an interview, Jay whines some more about the injustice of this. Mike tries to comfort Jay by telling him that they could stage the play in the house. Jay laughs, but Mike lays out a plausible plan, suggesting where the stage could be and where the audience could sit. In an interview, Jay says that Mike wanted to make it happen for Jay. Then they go and ruin a perfectly charming moment by making a joke about doing something called "Jay Frank's Bedroom Unplugged." The boys laugh in a knowing way, and I have to wonder what the hell ever happens in Jay Frank's bedroom. Doesn't he share it with Mike? And hasn't he been nothing but celibate since he got to London? Did Jay's drama teacher stay a little longer than planned? Do I even want to think about this? Lars enters, and the American boys outline their plan to produce Jay's play in the living room. Lars is not terribly enthusiastic, but doesn't have any objections. "Then when I go back to Portland," says Jay to Mike, doing that thing with his hand as if he's imagining headlines being written about his dramatic triumph. "Jay Frank's Bedroom returning from its hit run on the West End...of Jay Frank's living room." The boys laugh heartily. It's like a movie that Blake Edwards forgot to make in 1966 starring Tony Curtis and Tony Randall and featuring Madeleine Kahn in a supporting role as Lars.
I am starting to like Jay less and less the more this season goes on. First, he almost cheats on his girlfriend. Then there was that whole Sharon-worship thing a couple of episodes ago. Now he's actually walking around London's West End indignant about the fact that none of these venerable theaters will stage his play. Apparently he can't understand why no one in London would want to finance him despite the fact that he really really wants to be a playwright. As justification for his confusion, Jay cites his ability to harass old people. "The first time I was in Leicester Square and I got in line and started talking to people...people interested in theater," says Jay in voice-over. We see him in line for theater tickets, starting a conversation with an elderly couple who clearly don't give a shit. "I'd tell them I was a playwright from the United States and people get interested in what I've done and what I'm doing." Another couple gets to hear all about Jay's one-man show. "So I put it on," he lectures to the middle-aged couple who would normally have fled if it weren't for the MTV cameras aimed right at them. "And it made money." The middle-aged woman politely asks him what it was called. "It's called Bedrooms," says Jay. "Oooh, cheeky!" says the middle-aged woman.
Back at Attention Deficit Manor, the housemates find a letter addressed to someone named "Jay Straight." It turns out that Jay's father calls him that because that's his "birth name." The housemates ask Jay to explain. "I was born Jay Straight," says Jay. No comment. Jay continues, "And I was raised by my stepdad, and my stepdad adopted me, and I took on his last name." Mike asks Jay how his dad feels about that, and Jay says that it's cool now, but that they had to go to court, where his dad was his own attorney and had to cross-examine Jay and everything. "It was really strange," says Jay. "I was pulled out of camp to go to court against my dad." He goes on to explain that his stepfather raised him from the very beginning, so "out of respect," there was no way he could say no to being adopted by him. "It caused problems for me and my dad for a while, but now we got past it," Jay tells the other housemates.
Bunim: Jonathan? Did you know that Jay's father abandoned him and wants to get in touch with him now? Our lives are saved!
Murray: Who's Jay?
Bunim: One of the housemates?
Murray: The one who races cars?
Bunim: Uh, no.
Murray: The one who got his tongue bitten off?
Bunim: No. Jay is the one who wrote a play and won't let anyone forget it.
Murray: Oh yeah -- the one who doesn't get laid, right?
Bunim: None of them is getting laid, Jonathan.
Murray: You got me there.
Bunim: So I'm thinking we should get Jay's father a ticket to London and stock his room with a few liters of Absolut. In a week, we'll have some great TV.
"The last time I saw him was this summer when he came to see my play," says Jay in an interview. He goes on to describe how nervous his father was to come since he was sure there'd be a reference in the play to his abandonment of his son. "And when he left," says Jay, "it's like he didn't bring himself around to tell me that he was leaving." So then almost a year later -- now that Jay is being followed around by MTV cameras -- Jay finally gets a letter from his father. Jay tries to reach his father by telephone, but no one picks up. Why do I get the feeling that Jay just hasn't grasped the whole time zone thing and that he's calling his father at 3:00 AM his time and that's why he's not getting an answer?
So then there's a montage sequence of Jay "healing" from the whole experience. He plays basketball with Mike. He rollerblades with Mike, Neil, and Kat. He watches little children run around in the park. Everyone hugs Jay while swans come and eat pieces of bread out of his hand. "The mood of the house has changed over the last couple of weeks," Jay voice-overs. "People have a better sense of who each other is." He refers to Mike starting to race again (neglecting to mention that he lost big-time) and Neil performing (neglecting to mention that the last time he performed, he lost his tongue in some guy's mouth) as proof of a new attitude within the house. "People care about me more," Jay concludes. We see him rollerblading again. After Jay executes some pretty sophisticated dance moves, Mike proclaims him the "Fred Astaire" of rollerblading. I guess that makes Mike the Ginger Rogers of auto racing.
Later that night at the dinner table, Mike asks Jay whether he really wants to stage his play in the house. Lars mentions that it might be really fun to have all their friends over and "entertain them somehow." In an interview, Jay indicates that he's warming to the idea. "I think it would be a fun, interesting night for everybody," he says. After dinner -- or even several days later, for all we know -- Lars, Mike, and Jay rearrange the furniture and estimate how much seating space they have. "Everybody's excited about it," Mike says robotically, in an interview that looks like someone is holding a gun to his head and he's reading from cue cards. "It's going to be a big party and everybody's going to get to see a play...and we're going to see Jay doing what he loves to do." Jay then holds court at the dining-room table, explaining to Lars and Mike what the set should look like and what their backstage duties are. I swear to God, Mike is totally yawning the entire time. Jay later approaches Sharon and asks whether she can do lights. Sharon is "terribly excited" about doing the lights, although she realizes an hour later that it's "quite a responsibility." I think that what Sharon means here by "responsibility" is "taking part in a drama in which Sharon is not the center of attention nor is she supposed to speak." Mike and Jay discuss the wisdom of putting Sharon on lights. "You don't think Sharon can run a light board?" asks Jay. "Sharon has enough trouble turning the lights off in her room," says Mike. Oh my God, Mike said something really witty. I think all this closeness with Jay and exposure to theater is turning Mike into a gay man with a pitch-perfect sense of irony. Jay meets with Mike, Lars, and Jacinda, the last of whom doesn't really participate in the meeting but stands on stage and practices some ballet positions. Jay assures everyone that Sharon can handle the lights, but suggests that they have a two-hour tech rehearsal just in case. In an interview, Sharon reiterates how scared she is of screwing up. Jay goes over the script with Sharon and explains all the tech markings to her. Sharon pretends to understand Jay but clearly doesn't. "These blue asterixes [sic]," says Sharon, staring at the script really hard. "They are...when I change the light settings, yes?" Jay tells her it's really easy if she follows the markings, but obviously Sharon doesn't know what the markings mean.
It's a new day, judging by all the B-roll of springtime in London by morning sunlight. Jay is shown making a call. His voice-over informs us that he has tried to call his father in Saudi Arabia "thirty times within the last two days." To underscore Jay's desperation to get in touch with his father, they show him sitting there while the phone rings several times. An eighties hair band sings, "I've been waiting, waiting for you." He puts down the phone and stomps off. Then there's a montage sequence of Jay getting ready to perform his play. He designs the program while a voice-over explains how anxious he is about "connecting with all these people." He sits in a chair and presses his fingers together really hard like he's concentrating. Then he reads the script a lot. "I have to look and see how much of this play I have to change to suit the audience," says Jay in a voice-over. "I mean, the sense of humor is different over here." I hear the Brits love Benny Hill, Jay. Put on a dress or something. The limeys will love it. They'll smother it with Worcestershire sauce and eat it with kippers for breakfast. But all the while he's clearly thinking about his father. Or so would the "Saudi Arabia" t-shirt he's wearing seem to indicate.
So finally, in the middle of the night, Jay's dad calls back. They talk for about three seconds and Jay's father half-promises to come and visit Jay for a few days. Jay explains in an interview that his play made a huge difference in their relationship, because at the end of the play, the character modeled on Jay realizes that he misses his father. "Because he knew the play was autobiographical," says Jay. "And he respected how I handled it." When Jay's father came and saw Jay's play, it forced them to talk about this sore subject over a game of golf. we see Neil standing around shirtless, forced to listen to Jay expound upon what a difference Jay's play has made in his own life. "And it's so funny to me to think that this all happened because there was this poster in my Drama room wall about entering this contest," says Jay. Um, Jay? I'm happy for you writing that award-winning play and all, but there are lots of people who don't write plays who can nevertheless call their own deadbeat fathers and tell them how they feel without having to involve the entire state of Oregon. Just saying. Then Neil and Jay reflect on "fate" and what would have happened if Jay hadn't seen that poster. Neil brings it back to a conflict he was having when he was trying to decide between Oxford or art school. "I'll never know what could have happened if I had gone to art school," says Neil. Um, actually, I have a pretty good idea. If Neil had gone to art school, he'd be around real artists who did quality work and would have laughed him straight back to Oxford. "Out of the whole house, I'm looking forward to seeing Neil's reaction the most," says Jay in a confessional, trying to convince himself that Neil and he are kindred spirits since they're both performers and both observe life around them. Well, they're certainly both rather self-absorbed; I'm not so sure about any of those other qualities. Jay and Neil discuss the fact that Jay is going to "grow out of the part" of the seventeen-year-old boy who is the protagonist of his play. I would beg to differ. I don't see either of these boys getting mature in the near future.
"Well, now it looks like what it really is -- a set," says Kat. You see, she's observing Mike's and Jay's construction of the set for Jay's play...but she's also breaking down the fourth wall by acknowledging that their house is the "set" of a TV show. Or maybe I'm giving Kat just a little too much credit here. Then the gang gathers in the living room in order to help Jay arrange the posters on the wall of the "set," since the "set" is supposed to be the bedroom of a teenaged boy. He moves the Magic Johnson poster a little to the left and leaves the Blues Traveler poster where it is. Then Mike and Jay have a lovers' quarrel over the placement of a Pamela Anderson poster. Finally, Jay proclaims the set to be "beautiful." Did anyone else besides me feel a little surprised to realize that Pamela Anderson has been in the public consciousness since at least 1995?
"Feels like I got a job again...almost," Jay tells Jacinda in the kitchen. Jacinda tells Jay that his "whole demeanor's different" since he decided to stage the play in the house. Jay saunters off to teach Sharon how to do the lights. The lights are too complicated for Sharon. "I hope I don't lose my head because I'm so busy watching it," says Sharon. Jay responds that the thought of that happening "worries" him. Oh yeah, like Sharon could ever be too interested in a situation in which the spotlight was on someone else besides Sharon.
The morning, the day of the party, we see Jay wake up...on the set. You see, his own bed is being used as part of the set, so he slept in it. How authentic! How post-modern! Kat models a dress for Jacinda that she plans to wear to the party. The dress -- which looks like someone popped a dozen or so of those mylar balloons they give out on Secretary's Day and used them to construct an evening gown -- wouldn't look so bad if Kat weren't wearing a t-shirt under it. Even Mike checks it out and agrees with me. Jay also tells her to lose the t-shirt. Do Mike and Jay just want a closer look at Kat's chest, or is this yet another gay male theater thing? Last-minute preparations are made, and the party starts. Some guests appear; none of them looks all that intimately friendly with the London cast. In fact, they look like they're at an MTV version of that Bar-Mitzvah you have to go to because it's for your boss's son. Kat, who decided to wear the t-shirt and and a scarf under the mylar dress, explains to the party guests that Jay is upstairs in the bathtub because he needs some time alone. Everyone nods solemnly as if they know Jay and care. Jay is shown psyching himself up for his moment; in a voice-over, he recites some trite thoughts about artistic achievement and intuition. Finally, he comes downstairs, and the show begins.
What can I say about Jay's play? Okay, you know how there's always one kid in your high school that some teacher dubbed a creative genius and at some point, he probably was? But then, unfortunately, said kid gets caught up in his rep and starts thinking that because he can put two words together, his life is so fascinating that he can mine it endlessly for material for these autobiographical one-man plays that he performs at every opportunity and always seem to be about a teenaged boy from a dysfunctional family who uses his ability to express himself artistically to survive his rocky adolescence? And year after year, no one seems to realize that all of his "observations" are always lifted word for word from old Eric Bogosian or Spalding Gray routines? Well that's Jay's play...except instead of Eric Bogosian, Jay has ripped off Forrest Gump. Jay's play is about the story of a kid who can't get to sleep, so he starts to perform monologues in the middle of the night in his bedroom. You see, I know this because Jay said so in a confessional. Then when we see his play, he stands up in front of the audience and tells them that his play is story of a kid who can't get to sleep, so he starts to perform monologues in the middle of the night in his bedroom. So you see, the play is the story of a kid who can't get to sleep, so he starts to perform monologues in the middle of the night in his bedroom.
Bunim: Do you have any idea what Jay's play is about?
Murray: Um, let me get my notes. Let's see...oh, here it is! It's story of a kid who can't get to sleep, so he starts to perform monologues in the middle of the night in his bedroom.
Bunim: No way!
Murray: Way!
Jay's play goes on. We hear all these wistful cornpone stories about things he did as a naïve kid, and about his hopes and dreams. He also slips in some strange, unexplained story about a time someone shot at him while he was trying to play basketball. "He owns the stage when he comes out there," says Kat in an interview. "As soon as he was on stage, it was his." Yes, Kat, Jay does indeed own the stage. The entire set is made up of objects from his very own bedroom. But lest you think Jay's play is full of exciting, sexy story lines culled from his own thrill-a-minute life, there are important lessons to be learned too. "Seventeen-year-old males spend the majority of their waking hours engaged in the pursuit of three elusive goals," says Jay, portentously wagging his index finger at the audience. "Sex, freedom, and...well, sex." The audience finds this hilarious and...well, so does Jay, who laughs right along with everyone. Although I'm sure Mike was probably still scratching his head and going, "But that's only two things!"
"The thing about being seventeen is that you come to a point where you stand up and look at what's around you," says Jay onstage, all intense and actor-y. "Some grab a forty. Some run with a gang. Some hide behind their homework. Me? I just can't get to sleep." Well, fortunately that's not exactly the audience's problem; everyone watching seems to be sleeping. Well, maybe not everyone. I'm sure there are some people who left to go grab a forty, run with a gang, or hide behind their homework. So then, at some point in the play, according to Jay in a confessional, the "fantasy wears down," and Jay is forced to "deal with the truth." Onstage, a shirtless Jay pulls out a tape recorder and plays a tape of his father leaving a message on his answering machine. The sound of Jay's father's voice makes him recoil in horror, so he goes to bed and pulls the covers over his head. "At the end," says Jay in an interview, "the statement I try to make is that it's been his father all along." And just what did Daddy do to you, Jay? Did he make you kneel down to his boots and pray like Madonna? Did he fool around with someone besides Christine McVie from Fleetwood Mac? Did you love him just like John Lennon even though he never loved you? Did you have to live like a "foot" in his "brown shoe" for thirty years like Sylvia Plath? Or did he tell you ask you what you were going to do with your life like he did to Cyndi Lauper?
"The thing I like most about performing is right afterwards," says Jay in an interview, taking a shirtless curtain call and being hugged and congratulated by all of the housemates. Is it wrong of me to think that Jay actually looks good shirtless? I mean, from the way he walks around with his clothes on, you'd think he'd have acne all over his back and one of those sunken chests. And Sharon didn't screw up the lights, as Kat and Jay point out in interviews. "I'm going to take my kids to your movie," raves Mike. "'He might not remember me now, son, but I'll never forget him.'" "I still can't get any women," says Jay. "I've still got to go to bed with Mike tonight." No comment. Then Jay walks around and greets the adoring fans from whom he is unable to accept a compliment. One girl who is particularly desperate to get on TV compares Jay's play to the paintings of Kandinsky. Jay flees the house to "go get a big ole thing of pop" and as he walks out of the house, he voice-overs that he doesn't need to be a "prolific playwright," because he's happy "just performing." Oh well, that's good, Jay, because at the rate you're producing "plays," you just might be performing Bedrooms for the several years. And no, Jay's father never shows up.