A light and breezy soundtrack ditty featuring synth-y drums and a lush "doo doo doo laa" choral arrangement masks the lead singer's horror at finding out his band was being passed up to pen the newest Mentos ad campaign and would instead be product-placed in that mirage of the Fame Desert known as "The Real World!!!! (final episode of the Boston season)." A pan of the firehouse under absolute darkness ensures that no other sense is engaged but that which forces us to listen to the latest of vaguely European cheese pop bands that briefly came to power here in the late '90s, pumping out record after identical record exported from that ambiguously international location known as "Foreignia" and into record stores, each band with the approximate shelf life of the amount of time it took me to process and learn the lyrics to the aforementioned "doo doo doo laa" song. They were cute and fluffy for a while, until suddenly one day "ABBA without the heady intellectual investment" mysteriously stopped being a respected musical genre unto itself and a world of artistic dabblers actually remembered something called "musical instruments" had been invented. Just ask The Cardigans. If you can find them. Doo doo doo laa, indeed.
And...action! We're inside the firehouse, where the non-photogenic four of Sean, Montana, Elka, and Syrus discuss arrangements for a final house dinner. Sean sits on the couch, partial custody of The Ill-Fitting White Wifebeater his responsibility tonight (at least this means Jason will be forced into something in a "sleeves"), querying, "Let's talk about Saturday night. Are we all gonna go to Artu?" Elka sits to him on the couch, an eleven-gallon cowboy hat threatening to Venus Flytrap her entire head off, the contrived final reminder that her forgotten "Down-home, Brownsville, Look Paw, No Maw!" character the editors worked so hard to piece together remains somewhat continuous, at least from a headgear perspective. In regard to Artu, Montana notes from somewhere off-camera, "I'm hip!" Oh, and you so are [cough] "hip," Montana. In that way that "hip" hasn't been used unironically (except when referring in crossword puzzles to something grandmothers have replaced) since the early days of American Bandstand, back in the 1950s when Montana was just a teenager. CGI Syrus, spliced into the firehouse for the first time since February, smiles a smile that's less of a non sequitur when you realize he's reacting to the conversation for which he was present back in February. And then Sean pipes up again, and look out! Run, Chicken Little! Exposition is falling from the dark Fargo skies! Sean outlines his plan for the night: "We'll do our thing, go to Artu, hit some of our spots, talk about some of our moments, relive a little bit of our experience." Um. Isn't that what you just did?
Let it go, Sean. Let. It. Go. Over in a confessional, he prattles on about wanting to end their experience on the show just as it began, making sure eateries around town get their product-placed dime's worth, again mentioning this so-called "Artu." By the way, in his confessional, Sean is wearing a navy blue button-down shirt with the collar so far up that he looks like he's taking his final exam at The Elvis School of Fashion: The Unfortunate, Later, Puffy Years. And I'm just sayin': A+. He says it again: "I'd like to leave my last night here the way we spent our first night together." Sing along if you know the words: "And that would be at Artu." Put the collar down, porn star. Actually, he looks more like The Count. "One! One pathetically calculated attempt to manufacture a cohesive thematic arc at Artu. Ah! Ah! Ah! Two! Two million times Sean will replace the words 'the,' 'and,' and 'a' with the word 'Artu.' Ah! Ah! Ah!" And so on.
Outside on the dark, dark Boston night, Kameelah and Genesis walk into a deli of some kind, Kameelah barking, "Why do we have to relive this nightmare?" Heh. Point. Counterpoint. And given the choice between the loser and the bitch, I'll always pick the bitch. Always. And watch out for concealed ice on the sidewalk, ladies. After all, it's only June!
Montana notes to the aforementioned three, "Kameelah. I don't like you. But dammit, we went through the exact same thing together. I will remember you for the rest of my life." Kameelah isn't even there. I see it's role-playing drama exercise time. Maybe she'll do the one where she "trusts" Syrus enough to fall backwards into his arms. But he's already gone. Sleeping with my mama. Shut up, Montana. See? Loser.
Back outside, Kameelah lays it down: "I'm not going." Genesis says that if Kameelah isn't going, she isn't going either. But then Jason won't go either, "and that's gonna piss off the other four." Kameelah, suddenly throwing a ball up in the air (where'd she get that? I guess I didn't hear when she was all, "Come with me to the deli! I really need a ball!" The hell?), responds, "And I care because why?" See? The other thing.
Sleepy, sleepy morning around Boston. Sean opens the front door of the firehouse to see Poor, Poor Anthony (note to Real World trivia buffs: this is the first time he has not been identified by The Squiggly Hip Font Of Character Introduction this entire season) shepherding a gaggle of CCC kids in the front door. The Sneaky Theme plays while they walk silently up the steps and assemble in some kind of formation in the living room. Jason asks them if they're "ready," and the song "Put a Little Love in Your Heart" roars to life. A choreographed dance ensues. Oh, my God. I've had this exact nightmare dozens of times. Except with me, they're midgets instead of children, and instead of hastily constructed similar costumes, they're all wearing really elaborate clown suits. And the song is "Eye in the Sky" by the Alan Parsons Project. God. That song scares the shit out of me. ["I had this bizarre fascination with that song when I was a kid! Seriously. My best friend in grade three -- Joelle -- and I for some reason decided it was our favourite song and every time one of us heard it on the radio, she would phone the other up to tell her. I don't remember why." -- Wing Chun] Um. Anyway. The kids run and laugh and dance and joke and frolic as kids should, and the housemates all unthankfully climb their sorry asses out of bed. This includes the literal ass of Genesis, who inadvertently shows her upper thigh to the camera upon her bed dismount; said thigh shines brighter than the seven suns of the Planet Lesbia, infecting all who dare to stare directly into its rays with a lifetime of same-sex taboo. And that Jessica girl thought she had a chance to escape from such an imminent danger unscathed. Sorry, but that's not how it worked out, L'il Ellen. We learn from a Kameelah confessional that Anthony and the kids stormed in at "about seven in the morning," and she and Sean agree in separate confessionals that everyone thought it was "great." Everyone. Oh! Everyone except for Montana, who doesn't get out of bed. She hopelessly tells us in voice-over, "It was really hard. I didn't want to lie to the kids." Poor, Poor Anthony faces his nemesis, asking Montana where she's working. He listens long enough to make sure that none of the Sting Operation Keywords of "children" or "halfway house" or "recovering addicts" are mentioned before telling her that they'll all be downstairs having breakfast. That's too bad. When it's called "brunch," you're allowed to have mimosas. And isn't that why the kids are there?
Final, redemptive, Montana volunteering plot line. Back at Shelter Inc., Montana meets the haircutters whose help she employed last week. Sadly, Sassy Sam from City Salon is not among them. Too sassy? Montana reminds us, "I was just really pleased that the people at City Salon were so willing to volunteer their time." Because if giving yourself over to the volunteer cause is about one thing, it's delegating your responsibilities to stylists. Ska In Decline beefy horns kick it large on the soundtrack during a haircutting montage. Oh, sorry. I wasn't aware that someone had ordered up the Mighty Mighty Bangs Trim.
The clock ticks down to zero at the CCC, where sad, sad children write cards to the volunteers, and Poor, Poor Anthony suggests that they say some "final goodbyes." Elka speaks into a microphone, "My time here was very special to me. I'm gonna remember all of you. I hope you guys learned from me. Because I learned from you." Awwww. Cut to shots of kids lamenting the end of the Somber Seven's tenure. And they're crying. Not melancholy tears of time passing and things changing. This is, like, wailing. Hugs and tears and crying. A confessional from Syrus tells us, "The whole importance of this whole thing is so deep that I don't think people understand it." And then he leans out of the camera's range and starts bawling. What the hell is going on? Jason tells us, "We had to grow up a little bit. To do the job well." Well, that's speculative. A little girl asks Syrus, "Who's gonna live in the firehouse?" Syrus laughs, "The where?" And then he collects himself and posits, "I don't know. A bunch of firemen, maybe?" Yes, perhaps on an upcoming episode of B/M's new reality special, Making the Burn Victim. Otherwise, I wouldn't recommend it. That pole doesn't provide the necessary traction to slide down when it's swathed in an Ikea throw rug and a dozen order-in menus from Artu. ["Where? Oh, Artu. I didn't hear you when you said Artu the first time. Go on." -- Wing Chun] Sean hugs a kid with giant, ill-fitting glasses, noting, "This is my twin." Heh. Close. Except the kid is nine and weighs one pound and still wears a tank top. So maybe that line was scripted for Jason. Said kid asks Elka, "You coming back tomorrow?" Elka says she is not. "How's It Gonna Be" plays on as Anthony shakes their hands and tries not to look too gleeful. I've never seen a man not about to get laid so happy.
REM's "Nightswimming" + Journey's "Don't Stop Believing" + a piano-driven lick from Ben Folds's less musically adept brother, um, Sven Folds = packing-oriented soundtrack melancholy of the most appropriate kind. This Real World math sure is tricky! In Montana and Elka's room, Montana voice-overs, "I would hate to see Elka and I [sic] walk out of this house and not be friends, after everything that's happened." Yup. Five months sitting around with nothing to do but watch snow really tends to bond people from all walks of life. Hell, look what it did for the cast of Alive. Apropos of the cameras being on, Elka sits up in bed and asks an expectant Montana, "You wanna go to Starbucks?" Montana wants to go to Starbucks. If I were feeling all antiestablishment, I wouldn't have even mentioned the name of the place, knowing this moment is just a shill for the coffee industry. But there was this whole hue and cry a few months ago when a spanking new Starbucks opened right down the block from my neighborhood coffee place in Park Slope, and even I made fun of it because it looked all brownstone-y and Cosby Show-ish, even though it was so obviously the result of dozens of marketing meetings where suited execs in Portland were all, "It should look just like a typical Brooklyn street. As genuine as possible. Like when we all went to that retreat at Disney World to see what the Eiffel Tower looked like by seeing that scale model inside the 'Taste of Paris' exhibit. The Brooklyn Starbucks needs to be just as authentic. Maybe a tree should grow there." But then I went once, under duress, and there's this really weird truism about the Starbucks experience I just can't deny, when it comes to comparing it to those cozy, non-chain local places: Starbucks makes better freakin' coffee. Goodbye, neighborhood coffee place, with its watery mocha and unclean milk/sugar counter and games of checkers and feel-good, Park Slope community-hood. I'll see you down the block, while I'm having the best damn grande iced mochacchino eight bucks can buy. You're free to join me. And you really should. Anyone who chooses not to automatically becomes property of Blockbuster Entertainment. And for class rings...it's Jostens! ["I have a mini-hate on for Starbucks today because while I enjoy the Starbucks experience, I am not a coffee drinker and, when I go, usually enjoy the Happy Planet orange juice or, failing that, a Jones Soda. But when I accompanied Glark to Starbucks today so he could get his Venti Iced Chai, there was only Happy Planet mango juice (ptui) and Jones Orange & Cream Soda. The hell? And no butterscotch scones. I was all, why am I even here? But generally I love Starbucks. The caramel frappuccino is tasty." -- Wing Chun]
Lingering shot on the entrance to STARBUCKS COFFEE, inside of which Montana sucks down the remains of her frosty, delicious beverage and blocks the cue cards hanging just over Elka's shoulder and out of the camera's gaze, at which Montana stares intently. Get your bait and your boat, sister...it's time to fish, because the compliments are biting. Montana: "Who in the house do you feel you're closest to?" Elka deadpans it: "You." Montana volleys back, "It's sad to me that you say that you feel the closest to me. Our relationship is not that good." Don't feel too concerned, Montana; when you're not the one asking, I'm pretty sure Elka's answer varies pretty wildly. Elka doesn't think that Montana cares about her anymore, and Montana wants her to know "that's not true," continuing, "If I got anything out of being here, it was my friendship with you," pulling out that old trump card that my high-school friends and I tossed at each other when we couldn't fucking stand each other right before we graduated: "When you get married, I will be there." Which, translated, means nothing more than a glorified, "The ten years are incidental. Call me when you need a blender." Actually, that's not true. It's not even a glorified version of that. It's just that.
This line needs its own page. Its own recap. This line needs its own site, called MightyBigThisLine.com. It's that good, and it's from Elka: "Montana has turned out to be a more sensitive person. Now, she may be a feminist. And she may not be a virgin. But, y'know, there are a lot of things that we have in common. I suppose." That sentiment is so complex it needs its own dance step. Israel and the PLO have forged more believable public truces. On TV, the Pope digs abortion with more reckless abandon than that.
Jason posers into the firehouse, posing to Kameelah, "You're gonna go to dinner tonight? 7:30?" Kameelah tosses up The Big Round Brush Of Passive-Aggression (this week: Kameelah discovers gravity! In two different scenes!) and whispers that she doesn't want to go. Jason tells her to go. And so she goes. Montage of Sean really proudly leading his charges out the front door of the firehouse like he just invented dinner, and we're back inside of Artu seen last by the culinary faithful in Episode Two. Kameelah brings her camera inside to capture this experience that, five minutes ago, she thought was too odious even to attend. I find their configuration around the table interesting, so here it is (clockwise): Elka, Kameelah, Jason, Sean, Montana, Syrus, Genesis. Elka toasts to "five and a half months of memories." So today they were there for five and a half months. Elka's confessional tells us that this was the first time for a lot of things that happened to her, most notably among them, "It was my first time living with a gay person and having a relationship with one." Chick-a-wah-wah. Get a load of that, Elka's Dad.
More misty watercolored meeeeeemories ensue, causing Kameelah to remember in her most haggard confessional ever, "Right now, nothing matters. Every horrible thing that was said about me. Every horrible thing I said. Nothing matters now. We're leaving as a group. And that is very strange." At dinner, Syrus has learned that he "can never, ever have roommates again." Honesty is such a lonely word. Thanks for coughing some up, Sy. Genesis remembers in a confessional that she was very shy in the beginning: "I am not shy anymore." Montana tells us that she'll miss annoying Jason: "Because you're so easy to annoy." Outside, we take more pictures. Scattered pictures? I believe they are, sorrowful reader. I believe they are.
It's 3:46 in morning, and those damned kids from the CCC are...oh, it must be because they have really early flights or something. But not so early that Sean and Genesis can't sit alone in the living room and reconcile their four or five or five and a half or maybe more or less months of misgivings. Genesis notes, "I think this whole house has been nothing more than a group of misunderstandings." Yeah, it was a regular Three's Company plot tangle. A few snipes, but mostly misunderstandings. That's a realization it's important for them to come to. To remember why this season was so freakin' boring. Sean tells her that, knowing what he knows now, he would have been friends with Genesis and Kameelah. But his own "naïveness" got in the way. Not to mention his "naïveté." He comes to this conclusion about it all: "If you understand someone, how can you be prejudiced against them? Or racial about them?" The man. Is. A. Lawyer. How is he supposed to keep his legal, professional objectivity intact when he "feels racial" about people?
Sleepy, crying montage. Kameelah lies on her bare mattress (nice aesthetic touch, producers, but the beds were already made when they got there, so ha) and voices over, "There are no words to really describe what's going on right now." Here's one: Boring. I know. You know that. But c'mon. Montana calls Vaj at his toll-free 1-800-THE-PAST line to tell his machine when her flight is coming in. Oooh, la la. Flying home, I see, even though the train was good enough to get her up there in the first episode. Volunteering pays a bundle on this show, it seems. Meanwhile, Sean takes the final pool game of the season against Syrus, in an all-out battle going on everywhere except for the television set. I knew nothing about this mysterious pool battle. Sean's got game, yo. Syrus, Montana, and Sean then retire to the kitchen and toast with champagne in paper cups, Sean twisting the knife all that much deeper with his last emotional sentiment: "To all the beers we've drank [sic] before." What I meant above was that he's got lame. So very, very much lame. To all the beers he's "drank" before? Was "better days, better lays" censored by the FCC, or what?