Fade in on an all-too-familiar red Jetta tearing down the one paved road under a desert blue sky. Christina Aguileras best-double-entendres-concerning-sex-and-teddy-bears-since-Brittany-did-it-two-weeks-ago classic "Genie in a Bottle" rages on the cars stereo. Cut to inside said vehicle, where Maria jams along karaoke style, crossing one hand over the other on the steering wheel and doing her best "Cyndi Lauper in the video for We Are the World" impression. Incidentally, it is becoming quite clear that the Roswell hair stylist has committed to memory the "Good Hairstyles Now Deemed Bad And Vice Versa" article from last weeks Bad Hair Weekly and liberally applied its teachings to Maria. In three episodes, this girls hair actually appears to be getting shorter with each passing moment. Between the dubious locks and the Army-surplus denim tank top, Marias transformation into GI Janes lesbian-chic daughter continues almost entirely unabated. Then something actually happens in the show, and I become angry that I cant continue ragging on Marias hair anymore.
And what happens is this: Maria sees a car being towed up ahead and realizes that the stranded driver is none other than Isabel Evans. Isabel stares at the only approaching car for miles and recognizes Maria, cynically muttering, "Of course." Whoa, Isabel -- where ARE you from anyway, Planet Martyr? Were the ones who have already endured over thirty Maria-soiled seconds (yes, I know Ive only recapped thirty seconds at this point, but, well, THAT HAIR), so get hip to the fact that this Maria-centric episode cannot be avoided, and start thinking of constructive ways in which you can keep her cartoonishness in check for an hour at a time.
Anyway, Maria pulls up and immediately puts her big foot in her mouth before Isabel even has a chance to try and make nice, querying, "Going home?" before noticing that the tow truck has a spaceship in the act of taking off on the top of it. And right off the bat, theres excruciatingly little doubt as to where Isabel would most like to see her own foot go. Regardless, its Marias last chance for a zany quip of any kind for some time, as we quickly learn that Maria is terrified of Isabel. On the ride back to town, Isabel molecularly manipulates the Jettas AC to make it blow colder, and the cars stereo to make it jam phresher. After all, this car needs some help because its so ancient; "its a 1992." I quickly take stock of my rapidly advancing age and realize that most of my favorite TV series had already been either canceled or doomed to syndicated obscurity on the Fox Family Channel by 1992. I scream raspily at the screen, "You rotten kids, with your rock music and your video games! Why, you better get offa my TV. Dont make me take off my belt!" Digression, thy name is this recap.
Anyway, Isabels cavalier display of her powers freaks Maria out something fierce. Looks like this week its her turn to unravel. Isabel attempts a bonding moment on the topic of mothers, but her patience quickly fades at Marias question: "Does she know -- that, um, you and Max are, like, yknow, different?" But Isabel takes it from there, retorting, "You mean horrible, disgusting creatures from outer space who sneak into your room at night and perform excruciating experiments?" At which point Maria, who has not been watching the road, pauses for about five too many seconds, gasps in horror, slams on the gas, and goes careening into the car in front of her. "Its Valenti!" my two roommates yell, and I chuckle nervously as an apology for the six thousand times a week this show plays repeatedly on the one TV in our otherwise docile home. Sure enough, out of the front car step two snakeskin, too-high-heeled boots covered by perfectly tapered jeans (indicating that Maria has broken that first cardinal rule of the New Mexico highway system: "Watch your speed when the gay rodeo comes to town"). The boots assess the damage and stride over to the Jetta. And sure enough, theres Officer Porno himself, ducking his head into the drivers side window of the Mariamobile. ["Can he arrest them for ripping off a plot point from Outside Providence? Because he should." -- Sars] He smirks, "Ladies?" And so we begin with another classic showdown of good-versus evil-versus-just-plain-bizarre. You figure out whos who.
Opening credits: Is life lived in melancholy slo-mo really living?
Opening shot of cold, vacuous space turns out to be anything but. Instead, it is one of many slides in front of which geometry teacher-alien hunter-guidance counselor Renee Zellweger lectures the students about their promising futures and how to prepare for them. Maria tosses out a comment akin to the "would you like fries with that" clich weve come to expect of her ever non-deepening character. Hey, wanna hear a joke? Okay: How come you cant see Maria when she turns to the side? Because she only exists in -- ONE DIMENSION! Bah ha ha ha ha! I kill me. Anyhow, Liz completely ignores her, as well she should, and drifts off on another cloud: "I suddenly realized it wasnt my future I was worried about at all. My future was full of all kinds of promise. If I could just get through the present." Well, Liz, writing down each and every salient detail of your life as it occurs probably slows things down, eh?
Cut to hallway shot of Liz and Maria, with Maria explaining that not much damage was done to her car and that shes more than capable of handling Valenti. On the other hand, "it probably wouldnt have happened if Miss Isabel hadnt been playing with my head," and suddenly were deep within yet another scene which exists solely to describe another scene weve just finished watching. Liz asks Maria what she did to set Isabel off, and Maria answers, "I was there to extend myself, trying to reach out, give her that whole I come in peace thing," but asserts repeatedly that Isabel is "creeping me out." Liz claims that the important thing is to stay "in control," and Maria paces violently and wipes away the thick white foam collecting at the sides of her mouth, repeating, "In control. In control." Boy, I know I could calm Maria down just by telling her to take a chill pill, but that expression is, like, so 1992 I cant even stand it.
And speaking of things that happened before a fair percentage of the cast was born, the following scene rips a page right out of the John Hughes For Beginners approach to high school interaction. Suddenly and awkwardly adopting a rather light tone (in that famously fertile ground for uproarious comic hilarity, the Guidance Counselors Office), the following scene is a montage of students responding to Renees prompting, "Why dont you start by telling me what your dream job would be." Responses range from zany (Isabel offers "supermodel") to super-zany ("Brad Pitts love slave") to "molecular biologist." Thanks for keeping us grounded in Yawnerville, USA, Parker. All the while, the scene is accompanied by a soundtrack seemingly comprised of Howard Joness synthesizers, smuggled out of the Smithsonian for this blissfully out-of-context diversion. Then Renee asks the same students what they think they will actually be doing in ten years. This time the answers fall somewhere between the highly unnecessary ("well, we could all be dead in ten years") to the completely unreportable (dont be looking in these parentheses, okay? I said they were unreportable). -- I know, I know, can you believe this is still going on? In my high school, our guidance counselors would call the students in, determine we were free of drugs and head lice, and send us off to college -- Renee plays a "relationship game." She shows each student a drawing of people in motion, and asks which one best represents them. Max Evans considers the drawing of a group of children playing and responds that he is "probably the one behind the tree." Renee puts down the drawing and seems poised to erupt into that whole "doting guidance counselor" thing weve seen a thousand times before. But really, there are only four other kids in this drawing besides the one behind the tree -- two of them are girls, one of them is barely visible, and the fourth wears a beret. Personally, I too would rather be accused of sitting in the shade, quietly enjoying my day, than be mistaken for a kid who is either female, invisible, or French. But Renees thoughts do not meander toward quite the same conclusion. Turning Maxs vulnerability into her own martyred sob story, Renee speechifies to Max about the social benefits of "coming out from behind the tree," as uncloaked a cloaked allusion to gay liberation as any Ive seen in prime time. Sure enough, Max asks what small steps Renee took to become the extrovert she is today, to which she responds, "[I] started a conversation with this guy I liked." The bell rings and Max is off to follow Renees advice to the letter ("Hey, Kyle, well, Ive seen you around school and . . ."); meanwhile, Renee fills in a "comments" section on a form with Maxs name with the perceptive observation, "Has secrets." Like you dont even know, Renee. Like you dont even know.
Hey, wanna hear another joke? Okay, here goes: How come Lizs favorite subject is biology? Because when it comes to acting, she has absolutely no concept of CHEMISTRY! Tee hee! Stop me, Ive got a million of em. Hey, where you folks from? Good to see you. Anyway, Max accosts Liz in the hallway and the subsequent exchange is, I think, meant to be even more awkward than their usual encounters. Unable to flirt or be flirted with, Liz points the compass plotward and brings up that ol "Maria-Isabel thing." Liz wants Max to make Isabel stop traumatizing Maria (yeesh -- Im on ensemble-cast red alert here), and Max distractedly agrees to do so. Maria tells Max she really thought he had something else to say, which he denies. But we know thats not true, now, dont we? Or maybe we dont.