Below the slatted floor of the best little haunted house in Texas, we, the audience, are treated to an opening sequence almost entirely devoid of actual dialogue, but with more disparate shots and angles than a Spike Jonze-directed Skechers commercial. In fact, there is only one full sentence spoken in the entire sequence. Heed it now, and wonder no more why the writers put down their pens and settled for three subsequent minutes of fresh-faced teens running: "Hey, whoever’s up there looking for us isn’t going to stop until they find us. All right? I’m going to find out everything I can before they do." Thanks, Michael. Now can you please try and stop slurring your lines so egregiously? My rewind button can’t take another heinous round of this blah-di-blah you call diction. Be aware. Thank you.
Meanwhile, the black-clad size sixes of Renee Zellweger’s trendy boots (though no more femme than Porno’s suede l’il hoofers) continue their pursuit of the kids, and she steps over a dazed and bewildered Porno, still lying where she left him. She spots an irregularity in a wall of the house, which we know to be the secret lock to the basement door. Renee uses a compact six-inch flashlight to inspect the wall more closely. Needing her hands to pick the lock, she frees them for the job by putting the flashlight into her mouth, in a gesture which could only have been made more phallic had the flashlight been shaped like a giant, flesh-colored dildo. And you know, for six Disney-sanctioned recaps without so much as a swear word or blatant sexual reference of any kind, that last comment of mine was one hell of a way for that streak to meet its unceremonious end. Yeesh.
Anyway, Renee picks the lock and the door flips up, but at the same time Porno awakens and IDs his assailant from last week. But for now, he plays dead, and she suspects nothing. Meanwhile, the kids down below have followed suit, adopting Michael’s plan to ransack a dead man’s dome, grabbing whatever they can get their hands on and heading for a newly-discovered escape route beyond. Isabel hangs back temporarily, pausing over an artifact without which this episode would have been exactly four minutes long. Damn you, Isabel. Put that thing down and let’s go to bed early tonight. Hasn’t anyone mentioned that it’s Thanksgiving? But of course she can’t leave well enough alone, and she snags a black-and-white necklace that looks like a jewelry-making project my girlfriend in third grade gave me in arts-and-crafts because "we’re going to be together forever and ever and ever." None too surprisingly, the relationship ended with summer. All in all, the gang foils Renee once more, escaping through a complex series of underground pipes ("he Phaaaaaaatom of the opera is there") and emerging from a pot hole some distance away from the house. Renee discovers said pipes and gives chase, reaching the outside just in time to see the Jeep motor off into the bright desert day. Renee? Looks like it sucks for -- whom?
Opening credits: My roommate and I have begun belting the show’s theme song out in harmony, karaoke-style, and singing with that kind of passion requires me to close to my eyes. Sadly, I reopen them halfway through a commercial for Sleepy Hollow, realizing with a sigh that there will be no snarky comment about the opening credits this week.
Fade in on the Alienmobile making tracks, Roswell-bound. Max peers attentively at the road (read: please Liz don’t talk to me please Liz don’t talk to me please) as Isabel feigns sleep in the passenger seat (read: Liz don’t talk to me either please Liz don’t). Left with no one willing to listen to the garbled mess of generalities in which Liz’s voice-over categorizes her day (someone should tell her to put that journal down and leave the recapping duties to the professionals where they goddamn-well belong), Liz faces backwards out of the Jeep and reminds us that she spent the night "engaging in general bonding with aliens." And I know there’s nothing even vaguely original in my comment, and I apologize for the lack of linguistic subtlety or ironic cleverness when I say it, but she’s really forced my hand here: shut up, Liz. Michael and Maria follow them in the magically repaired Jetta, where she tells him that last night she saw through the unbathed bad boy Michael pretends to be to the "deeply wounded, vulnerable guy" underneath. Michael, back in his cool-guy shell, tells Maria that there’s nothing going on between them and blames his behavior on "the (mumble mumble) of the road." Oops, goodbye significant plot point. Thanks again, you master orator, you. Can somebody please dig up one of the sixty cell phones tossed around so cavalierly in last week’s episode and patch through an emergency call to the phonics folks over at 1-800-ABCDEFG? If we can’t break down this emerging impediment to its most basic elements, I’m going to be hard-pressed to quote one more sparkling syllable of dialogue out of this boy’s mouth. And we all know what a shame that would be.
Back at the posh Chez Evans, Max is playing "Bloodhound Gang" with his newfound files. Isabel, meanwhile, runs into his room with some dusty old photographs and reminds him of "when Mom and Dad took us to Florida that summer." Oh, goody, another family’s vacation photographs. Shorthand for fun! I don’t care how cool or interplanetary your family is, a picture (or, god forbid, a slide show) of your little boy in tears because the guy in the Goofy costume tried to shake his hand always has me running for the ether. Isabel reminds Max of a sculpture they made in the Florida sand (I guess the deserts of New Mexico don’t have any sand, but I don’t know ‘cause I’ve never been there), and implores Max to close his eyes and draw it before she’ll show him the picture. So he closes his eyes, up swells the planetarium vibraphone (an instrument I think I might have just made up, but should it exist, it would be the locus of all musical creation for all planetarium soundtracks), and Max sketches the design, sight unseen. It is of two unmeeting half-circles with a dot in the middle, a symbol that vaguely resembles the mark of evil in at least five memorable episodes of Buffy. Max’s drawing correlates to the photo of the sand drawing, which also replicates perfectly the necklace Isabel stole from Atherton’s house. But their chain reaction of discovery is disrupted by the appearance of Mrs. Evans, who tells the kids they look "exhausted," though they pretty much look to me exactly the same as always. They apologize for being out so late, studying. And by the way, Mrs. Evans -- before you start running around criticizing your kids’ looks, you might want to stop along the way and check your own reflection these days. ‘Cause that hair of yours actually does look like the product of a whole lotta sleep. Like, say, three months or so face-down on those very problematic bangs of yours.
Cut to West Roswell High’s splashy outdoor atrium, the corresponding location of which I rarely hung out in at my own high school because, uh -- oh, that’s right, no real school actually has one. Maria, hair still longer, personality still less strident, acts circles around Liz, whose fake smile seems imminently poised to crack her face wide open like that guy at the end of the opening credits to You Can’t Do That on Television. Maria is explaining her ever-growing attraction to Michael, but just as things start getting good, Kyle saunters by and Liz says she has to go talk to him. Maria responds that she guesses she’ll just see Liz later at Max and Isabel’s to "go through the files." Clearly, Liz has no idea what Maria is talking about when she dumbfoundedly responds, "Yeah. I will be there." Or maybe she’s just a pretty face with a woefully limited acting range whose emotions are consistently impossible to read properly due to, y’know, bad acting. Survey says? Shut up, Liz.
So off to Kyle’s locker Liz goes, where a bemused Porno Junior continues to deliver lines seemingly written for him by a bitter drag queen accustomed to hurling sassy barbs at patrons at a cabaret bar before busting into a campy burlesque version of "Don’t Rain On My Parade." Sans the feather boa but with the swagger firmly in place, Kyle greets Liz as she approaches: "Miss Texas." She doesn’t get it, I bet. But man, it’ll KILL later on down at The Duplex. I swear it. Anyway, Liz needs to talk to him privately, so she takes him into the janitor’s closet, a location Kyle deems upon entrance as "ironic." (It’s not.) "Our first kiss," he reminds Liz. (It’s still not.) Liz just wants to make sure that Kyle won’t open his mouth about last night’s antics on the road at the Hotel Nookie. Kyle plays the good guy just long enough for Liz to let her guard down and thank him. But just when you’d least expect it, Kyle the silly ol’ bitch tacks on the kicker, "Not until I have something that will destroy him." Ouch! You go on with your bad self, sister.
Cut to Renee on the phone with the forgotten Agent Stevens (Episode I), who is apparently her boss down at The Agency. And he’s really meeeeean, but in an angry-guy kind of way, yelling and slamming his fist on the desk repeatedly. Frou-frou Kyle Valenti might find it worth his while to take a couple of lessons. Anyway, he explains in a rage that Renee is not adequately doing her duty in this case, which is to "covertly observe the subjects to determine whether or not the theories about them are substantiated," adding that sucker-punching Porno in the back of the head doesn’t exactly fit into his schema of "covertly." Covertly, Agent Topolsky! COVERTLY!!! Shhh. Renee even stops the "Tae-Bo From Memory" exercise she’s in the middle of to become a little flustered by his ranting. Frankly, I think she’s a bit intimidated by this shameless and unbridled display of ACTING that Stevens seems so trapped in. Renee’s new assignment, then, is to retrieve whatever those damn fool kids took from the house "by any means necessary." What? WHAT, AGENT TOPOLSKY? By! Any! Means! Necessary! Now that’s acting!
In a scene almost too pointless to recount in full, Porno shows up to interrupt Bania the Curator in the middle of a museum slide show and ask about Atherton. Bania fills in the blanks: Atherton disappeared just as his discoveries were becoming "too dangerous" for certain people. Jeez, people, I said it last week and I’ll say it again: the password is "library." It’s in the white pages. Under "Library." And in the yellow pages under the equally elusive "Libraries." Open the damn Dewey Decimal drawer to the "A" section and let your fingers do the walking. Leave this poor, conflicted man alone already. It’s just plain mean.
up, we cut to Porno, who has unearthed the Atherton book Max was reading so many episodes back. Porno, acting on instinct, matches the photo of the corpse with the alien hand-print from back in the pilot (a misguided assumption that anyone but me has fervently watched every episode with rapt attention. Optimism, thy name is this story arc) with the author’s photo. A perfect match! But the thrill of discovery is once more disrupted by the scourge of the clueless, and in an instant Native American enters and alerts Porno to "a situation." Oh, you mean a highly obvious and easily predictable lack-of-plot development that I don’t have the good sense to disregard and just go to sleep? Well, Native American, if it’s THAT that you mean, say so and give me a hint of what I’m getting myself into here.
Back in the Alienmobile, Michael plays coy, suggesting that "that Maria girl" help them plow through the copious Atherton files. But as they drive up to Chez Evans, they notice it is surrounded by several police cars, and they send Michael packing. Driving up, Porno approaches the Jeep and announces, "I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news for you." And the catastrophe is this: there’s still a lifetime left in this once-more draggy episode, and I just saw my pointlessly short life pass before my eyes in the reflection of Porno’s too-close-up sunglasses. Oh, and there’s also something about their house being robbed. But why is this episode called "River Dog?"
Bangs a-floppin’, Mrs. Evans races out of the house and tearfully hugs her children. The house was robbed. The cops are there. Now put that camera back on the freakin’ tripod -- this isn’t Homicide, okay? Max and Isabel run to Max’s room to discover that all of the Atherton files have gone missing. Looking up to find Porno skulking suspiciously, Max inquires as unsuspiciously as possible, "What’d they take from in here?" Bangs shows up in time to rap Porno on the knuckles for interrogating her children at a time like this, and Isabel takes this opportunity to check out her own room. But Native American is already in there, staring idly at a closet and waiting for someone to yell, "Action!" so he can deliver his usual two lines and leave. But no, this time, Native American’s words have weight. Seeing Isabel’s necklace, which she seems to wear constantly despite the fact that it is a) an incriminating alien symbol and b) stolen, Native American comments that he "hasn’t seen anything like that since I left the reservation." Isabel looks after him in that privileged white girl way that screams, "Reservation? You mean like when Mommy and Daddy take us out for sushi and we need to call ahead? What’s that got to do with necklaces, silly?"
Meanwhile, Michael (thankfully refraining from speech, making it possible for me to accurately report this scene), walks alone down the shadowy streets. He sees a man in a suit and decides he’s being followed again. A suit? Uh-oh. Dead giveaway these days. Stupid FBI. Isn’t there, like, a dress-down Friday for alien hunters? Put that dude in a pair of Dockers for a few hours and he’ll blend in with a fair better bit of success, no? Soon after, Isabel, Max, and Michael come plowing into the Crashdown to alert Liz and Maria to be very careful. Michael sees Isabel’s contraband necklace and says he recognizes the symbol too. Isabel tells the story about the deputy, whom she also agrees is named "the Native American one," recognizing the symbol from back at the reservation. Michael jumps up to indicate that it’s time to hit the road again, but Max goes a perfect six-for-six, episode-wise, by instructing them all that "we can’t go anywhere right now" and, even more necessarily, "No one’s going anywhere." Sad to say, this time he’s right. They really should consider the trip, though. They’re a whole lot more fun on the road. Except for Liz, who is blah at absolutely every moment. Is "Blahs-well" a funny word? How about "Ros-Hell?" My objectivity is just completely shot to hell at this point. Really.
The only way to explain away the following sequence is to guess at the fact that every stage direction read, "As if making your audience want to bathe in disinfectant." Cut to the third most disturbing scene in the history of television (the most disturbing one occurs later in this episode, and tied for second is every scene that has ever starred Alan Thicke, for some reason), in which Porno and Renee banter knowingly in a courting ritual that looks a little something like, omigod, flirting? He accosts her in her office, where said non-guidance counselor tells him she knows nothing of the Evans robbery. He comes clean about having "woke[n] up with a terrible headache," to which Renee volleys, "You must have had your head in the wrong place." I don’t really know what they’re talking about. I don’t really think they know what they’re talking about. But I will say this: if these two get together and exchange their gross cooties at any point in the future of this series, I am seriously considering jumping ship and recapping a new show entirely, let’s say for example the wacky comic stylings of the animated and entirely non-sexual Dilbert. Oh, wait -- does this plan entail watching UPN? Okay, forget it. That’s a lifestyle change I’m just not ready or able to be making at this point in my life.
And speaking of painfully futile flirting, Max hears a knock on the living-room window (why? Did the robbers steal the front door? What about one’s ability to enter via said door? Did they take that too?) and discovers Liz behind the curtain, requesting entry. He lets her in and helps her through, and of course she loses her balance and falls into his arms. They pause the requisite amount of time to stare deeply into each others’ eyes. Speaking of which, have you guys seen my sweeps contest? It ROCKS! Liz informs Max that she wants to go to the reservation for some further investigation. He says no. She says she didn’t come for permission. She came for the pendant, which Max, in apparent pursuit of his feminine side, is wearing. Finally, he gives it up (the pendant, I mean. But have you seen my rockin’ sweeps contest? Know why I call it "rockin’?" ‘Cause it rocks) and she’s off with his blessing. My sweeps contest -- CATCH IT!!!
Off on a journey of ambiguous cultural insensitivity not seen on television since the network premiere of Birth of a Nation, Liz takes to the road and toward the reservation. She shows the pendant to a nice native lady who can’t identify its origin. Moments later, though, a grizzled old man grabs Liz’s hand and stares at the pendant. He is a most revered and powerful man, a fact indicated by the drums-heavy tribal soundtrack which accompanies him wherever he goes. And where he goes is after Liz, accosting her on her way to the car. "Give it to me," he insists as he eyes the pendant suspiciously. She won’t. Jeez, what an, um, er -- Indian giver? He warns above the percussive din (what does a pre-Phish-show drum circle have to do with Native Americans, anyway?) that "this is dangerous. This brings death." No, really, why is this episode called "River Dog"? Pleeeease won’t someone tell me?
I cannot say this enough times: this Pets.com commercial literally kills me. I’m so glad to have it on tape that I don’t even mind it forever trapped between sixty insufferable minutes of something called, for no apparent reason I can currently discern, "River Dog."
Oh, by the way, I looked up "convoluted" in an unabridged dictionary once. And since a dictionary that comes with the promise of full, unedited disclosure must not in any way, um, abridge, to "convoluted" was the entire shooting script for the remainder of this episode. But I promise to try.
Liz is hard at work at the Crashdown when in walks a shady Keanu-like character named Eddie to bring Liz a message. From River Dog. Aaaaaaaaaah-HAH! Eddie tells her to come to the reservation that night. So we cut to a very confusing sequence of car chases, which attempts to convey to the audience that Liz is trying to throw the FBI off of her trail but instead plays like cutting-room-floor edits of Lethal Weapon 4. Renee, out doing some reconnaissance work, chases the Alienmobile, which is shown to be merely a dupe as Liz and Max tear off in the Jetta to go find River Dog (it’s a person, see). In Renee’s hot pursuit, she neglects several dozen traffic laws and is herself pulled over by an off-duty Porno. He threatens, using sexual metaphor not even worth legitimizing with a mention, "I could bring you in, hold you overnight, and while I’m at it do a thorough background check to find out what our new guidance counselor is really up to. Or we could just have a nice conversation." "Choose the chat, Renee!" I bellow at the screen. I mean, it can’t be pleasant to be wined and dined by this creature for a whole evening, but at least it doesn’t immediately involve the prospect of Porno, um, checking out your background thoroughly, if you know what I mean. So he’s got her right where he wants her. Blackmailed into a date, that is. I’ll bet he used his power position as a hall monitor in high school to get a date for the prom. What a charmer we have in Porno.
Meanwhile, Max and Liz arrive at the reservation to find Keanu unwilling to help Liz now that Max is along for the ride. But with a little intuitive conniving, Keanu is no match for Liz’s sharp tongue and even sharper knives, and she’s forced to convince him by pinning Keanu up against the wall with the tip of a sharp switchblade, which she soullessly threatens to use up and down his face if "you casino-lovers don’t stop jerking me around and start giving me some answers I can WORK WITH, people!!" Oh, you so wish. Or I wish, anyway. What actually happens is that Liz says, "It’s important," and Keanu says, "Okay." Sigh. But, he warns, there will be a test. A test? Boy, does our heroine look relieved. Thank goodness she always carries her Care Bears pencil case filled to the brim with sharpened number twos. ‘Cause Liz fills in the bubbles completely and knows that it’s better to guess and be wrong than to just not answer. Hey, can the test have science on it, Mr. Nice Native Man? Please oh please oh please oh please? Man, even when I’m channeling Liz and just plain making up lines that were never even written for this show, my response to the sound her voice remains the same, whether real or imagined: shut up, Liz.
To the closed Crashdown, where Maria, Michael, and Isabel share a bull session better left for the "Special Outtakes and Edited Moments We Would Have Loved on Roswell" DVD intended for true fans only. Because this totally out-of-context scene certainly has no legitimate place here, stretching out endlessly in all directions and mucking up my whole Wednesday. So the three are worried. That’s it. Oh, and aliens like Tabasco sauce. Because they’re aliens. If the onomatopoetic word for stultified sleepiness is "yawn," what’s the one for rolling eyes? Because I think I’m going to be needing that one far more frequently than before if my already deteriorating mood continues down this general path. ["Try ‘not.’ I think you’ll find it quite handy." -- Sars]
Max and Liz’s test, though, is nothing but high drama. Keanu leads them to the middle of a dark forest, turns on his heels, and leaves. In the dark and unfamiliar surroundings, the couple, abandoned by their third, becomes improvisationally nervous and short of breath (you can practically hear the ka-ching of the Blair Witch copyright infringement suit through this entire hand-held sequence), and they decide to calm their nerves by walking out of the dark forest and into a significantly darker cave. Once inside, someone grabs Liz’s flashlight and she screams. Max, in the dark, in a panic, repeats for the cameras, "Where are you?" Silence, heavy breathing, plaintive sigh, heavy breathing. Josh? I think I see Josh. I think that I hear Josh. Josh? Joooooooooooooosh!!! Josh!!! Ka-ching!
So Max produces light with his hands and the flashlight assailant in the cave reveals himself to be none other than that esteemed namesake, River Dog. He intones dramatically, "You have passed the test." Max is the chosen one. River Dog will answer all of their questions. Liz just feels gypped that she got all the way through this so-called "test" without having to use so much as a beaker.
In the promised "Most Disturbing Scene in the History of Television," Porno and Renee are finding out a little bit about each other down at the local watering hole. Porno frequently finds cause to crack simply the eeriest smile I have ever seen on an alleged human. Oh, and we also discover at this juncture that Kyle’s trademark "don’t you be messin’ with my mojo, girlfriend" sense of bitch-slap humor is directly inherited from Dad, who peppers the proceedings with comments like, "It’s funny how everybody agrees they’ve taken the wrong tack when their cover’s blown" and "Whatever could you be thinking?" and "Let’s make babies together, Ms. Topolsky." Okay, okay, so one of those wasn’t really said. Guess which one here is not like the other ones. Isn’t this a fun game? Of course it is. But not as much fun as my sweeps contest.
Have I mentioned that I want Liz to shut up? Back at the reservation, River Dog speaks of an alien man who came once and knew Atherton and in fact gave him the necklace. And in 1959 the alien man killed Atherton. Wait, I have no idea what’s going on. Wanna hear a poem I just made up? Nah, forget it.
Crashdown-bound, Isabel has taken off, leaving Michael and Maria alone. And finally, four minutes from the closing credits, we are shown that well-hyped clip of their big kiss, which turns out to be nothing more than a boring, sterile quick fix for Michael to shut Maria up for a sec. Without the benefit of soundtrack interference (did the WB finally run out of Third Eye Blind songs or did some piece of equipment break?), it’s just a little too easy to hear the loud, smacky sounds which almost make me take back the three nice things I’ve managed to say about Maria. But the presence of kissing, smacky or otherwise, means Liz Parker is probably nowhere to be found, so I welcome the diversion, saliva-drenched though it may be. Oh, it’s over. Parker again. Damn you, cruel Roswellian fate. End. END!!!
Back in the woods, River Dog shows Max a cave drawing of indistinguishable symbols that our scholar Liz posits "must be some sort of language." No, Liz, I think it’s actually the set of the original Win, Lose or Draw starring Vicki Lawrence. Of COURSE it’s "some sort of language." That’s almost as daring a comment as guessing that the cave on which it’s written is made of "some sort of rock." Here’s a tip, Liz: stick to science. There’s no essay. Here’s another tip: shut up, Liz. River Dog bids them farewell, claiming he has completed his promise to him who passes the test, and tells them not to come again. But as they’re off, River Dog shares this parting gift with Liz: "You’re not one of them. Make sure he deserves your trust." Liz takes Max’s hand and they exit the cave, off to work on their sweeps contest entries.