Fade in on an over-directed, over-indulgent, underwhelmingly effective media frenzy in front of the UFO Center. The mood is active (Ow! Typing words for the first time because I'd never had use for them before makes my fingers hurt, and the sheer will of designating something as "active" on this show actually made my palms bleed). The soundtrack is ska. Now I can't say that there's really any musical style that I find offensive beyond reproach; I've been known to consume musical tastes from every corner of the cultural globe, and can't swear that I've never been that guy at last call at a karaoke bar belting out a soulful rendition of The Backstreet Boys' "I Want It That Way" just because "they're really talented if you listen to their harmonies." But the sheer amount of rewind time required to fulfill my recapping duties caused me to hear, learn, reject, and desire to destroy this and all existing copies of the song accompanying this scene. It's a bouncy little ditty off of the "Signs That Ska Has Become More Diluted and Mainstream than Celine Dion" soundtrack (featuring No Doubt and the Bosstones on every track), and the lyrics include the nails-down-a-blackboard annoying lyrics, "Waiting for the aliens/Hanging out in Roswell." Ack! Is this a preexisting song, or has someone written it solely for the purposes of the show? If the latter, are there verses about each individual character, i.e. "My name's Liz Parker and y'all are my peeps/I'd finish this verse but by now you're asleep." Do they have those? I hope they do.
This visual make-up of this moment is scarcely less aggravating: Ostensibly "famous" model-esque people schmooze and get photographed while camera crews film the goings-on and the paparazzi swoon. Yeah, I know that when I become really famous, I'm going to maintain my profile as a rising Hollywood star by associating myself with high-profile events that will validate my integrity in the eyes of my adoring public. Hence, lots of UFO Conventions. Tons of them. And Klan rallies, too. Anyway, the camera pans to a banner on the UFO Center that informs us we have unwittingly stumbled into the "10th Annual" something or other. Cut to someone wearing an alien costume of a bulbous green head and huge black eyes, handing out flyers in front of the UFOC. I can't see what the text on the paper is and I don't believe we're intended to, but I certainly hope that if we did have the opportunity to do so, the words would read, "I'm Max Evans. Inside of a costume." Because it would certainly spare us the intelligence-insulting fury of future moments when we're supposed to be not sure. Anyway, the costume-clad phantom stranger I'll just call Anonymous (because I have no idea it's Max Evans) turns to face the camera. At which point the frame freezes and the words "Roswell Tenth Annual UFO Convention Day One" appear at the bottom of the screen in the font "X-Files Ripoff Sans Originality." When the action kicks up again it's in slo-mo, a tighter shot of the green alien costume staring at the Crashdown, which seems to have acquired an al fresco veranda facing the UFOC solely for the purposes of this pointless sequence. Clearly, Liz is on shift, and the extreme green alien face close-up fixates on her every slo-mo move. I think we're supposed to believe that Liz is in some way threatened by this entity. The closed-captioning (sorry, I became ska-intolerant and had to turn the sound off for a bit) suggests the stage direction "heavy breathing," and the effect is very Darth Vader-esque, but the moment carries the same dramatic heft as knowing from the first time you ever see Darth Vader that under the foreboding mask and the sinister black cloak is . . . Max Evans. But at least the so-called theatrics of this moment have made the Roswell/aliens/aren't we hip and self-referential song cease forever. Anonymous continues staring at Liz. I go over the top completely and bellow at the top of my lungs, "GAH! IT'S MAX!!! HE FREAKIN' WORKS THERE, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! The UFO Center has one other employee besides Bania . . . and it's HIM!!! Do you know who's as dumb as you think we are? No one. That's who. NO ONE!! AAAAHHHHHHH!" My downstairs neighbor slams a broomstick against her ceiling, and my roommate remains in the kitchen, where she has been cooking Top Ramen one noodle at a time for the last three hours in a newly-developed method of not having to come watch this train wreck with me under the inarguable pretext of "making dinner."
Cut to ska-free, Porno-packed clip of Porno and an unnamed deputy discussing last week's sighting. More freaked calls, the deputy says. It was dry lightning, Porno lucidly responds. And I mistakenly believe for a minute that Porno might be returning from the land of the loony a little bit, and that the "Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs" bird is no longer the centerpiece of the Valenti family crest. But all these notions of normalcy are quickly dispelled when Porno enters his perpetually pitch-black office to discover a Billy Bob Thorton celebrity impersonator sitting in Porno's chair, feet up on his desk in that "look at me all acting like the big sheriff" defiance pose. "Been a while, Junior," he mumbles. Porno walks into the one ray of light peeking through the slotted shades and lets Billy Bob know, "You're not welcome here, Hub." So Hub leaves. Way to make a name for your new character there, Hub. You'd better stick around and say something memorable, as most weekly guest stars receive a year's supply of Rice-a-Roni and a copy of the Roswell home game and are pretty much sent packing. Hey, it's cheap, and it sure beats developing the ten or fifteen people featured in the opening credits, the so-called "leads," whose characters have remained as static as scrambled porn. Anyway, Billy Bob obliges with a witty retort, tossing out the line, "Regards to your dad. From what I hear, you're starting to come around to his way of thinking." And he's gone. But he'll be back. They always come back. Unnamed Deputy comes in and asks who that was. Porno responds, "That deputy was a bona-fide alien hunter." Ohhhhh. I mean, "Huh?"
Opening credits. Dear producers of Roswell: Besides the approximately forty-four seconds of this sequence, the remainder of the episode is not intended or suggested to be identical from week to week. It's only this part. Just thought you should know. Because you obviously didn't. Love, Djb. And the rest of this world and any others you may know of.
Back from commercial and trapped inside a scene at the UFOC, Michael "I've been called a slacker and I've been called a louse/But I'll find my home planet by driving my house" Guerin is deep in conversation with a tweed-coated professional of some kind, who dourly explains that "I've concluded, Mr. Guerin, that yes, these aliens do exist. Yes, they're among us today, and yes, they are brutal, dangerous killers and must be stopped at any cost." His arm is grabbed by Isabel "If boys treat me nice I just won't be nice back/I'm only sixteen, so stop staring at my rack" Evans, who expresses an immediate desire to be far, far away from this generally unnatural and awful place. Isabel has, for the second straight episode, decided to go with these dawning-of-the-age-of-Aquarius braids on either side of her center part that I can't say I'm entirely thrilled with. She's still my favorite character with absolutely no exceptions, but this subversion almost makes me believe that she's trying to make me like her less. Well, good luck there, Isabel. You've got a long way to go. Michael tells her that the UFOC could hold the key to their existence, and just before Isabel has a chance to gaze curiously at him and ask, "Where have I heard that before? Oh, yes. Out of you. Every twelve seconds. That's right," they are accosted by Anonymous, the green-headed costume wearer from the last scene who is definitely not Max Evans. While wrestling with the giant head in an attempt to remove it, he advances on the two of them, chanting, in a voice that is truly, obviously, hypnotizing-in-its-boredom Max Evans's, "Save me, save me. I'm a human trapped in an alien body." But if there's one magical power the aliens on this show don't have, it's an inability to master the obvious and recognize cheesy, poorly-constructed stabs at role-reversing irony (okay, that's two things, but Michael can make people really itchy and I can't, so whatever). Hence, for some reason, they don't recognize the only other person they'll actually have a conversation with. So he takes off the mask. Oh, look, it's Max. That IS funny. Funny and surprising. If this show is one thing, it's funny and surprising. Oh, wait, that's two things this show is. Actually, it's neither of those things.
Cut to Liz deep in the process of not doing any shutting up, zipping around the Crashdown and delivering orders. She furnishes one table with [insert hilarious alien-themed dishes here -- where do they come UP with this stuff?], but the patrons are not amused. A pasty bald man informs Liz, "I am Xenaplox from the planet Zedagon. I come to destroy humanity and return to my home planet." Liz un-shut-ups something about how great it is that they're starting off with a good, hearty breakfast and walks away, smiling self-righteously. Gee, what a brave and unwavering stance this episode is taking on those misguided humans who believe in the existence of extra-terrestrials. How about choosing an easier target for ridicule, like, say, Trekkies or Elvis impersonators or serial killers? We know that people who go to conventions to talk about how much they believe in aliens are psychotic, Roswell writers -- that's why we're not them. So please try to flesh this out a bit and make these stock characters appear with maybe some more dimensions? Like, say, one and a half dimensions? That's not asking so much more than what you're giving them now, is it? Oh, I forgot who I was talking to for a minute.
Okay, get ready: I know you're not going to believe this, but there's some plot development coming. You know what makes it believable, though? It's an essential moment in the action that greatly assists in developing the plot . . . of the very first episode of the series. For no sooner has Liz barely completed the thought, "That guy believes in aliens! But he's never been pathetically dumped by one like the loser I am, I mean he is," she turns toward the entrance of the Crashdown to see a couple entering. Hey, it's Palm Pilot and Jen from the first episode! Cool! You know why it's cool? Because it sucks up valuable unrecapped seconds with a disparate series of first-episode shots of Liz with blood on her uniform. Then that scene ended and nothing has really transpired since. Liz recognizes them immediately, making her way over and offering to seat them. And what a stretch it is for her to appear unfazed by her surroundings, a monotonous veneer masking an obviously awkward and ungraceful interior. No, that description takes her character to a new level entirely, I can tell you that much. So she seats them, Palm Pilot smugly responding to her every move. He orders a shake called an "Alien Encounter," thinking it's just about the most brilliantly arrogant allusion to his past experience with Liz. Wait a minute, I think, aren't all of the drinks at the Crashdown called "Alien Encounter?" Or "Alien Confrontation" or "Alien Some Other Kind of Skirmish?" Come on, Palm Pilot, you look fresh and rested. But for those of us who come back and suffer week after week after week in this touristy, artery-clogging, roach-infested diner, well, we just can't watch you come in and stroll around like you own the place. That's Slackjaw's job -- but you didn't know that, now, did you, Palm Pilot? Did you? My anger subsides with the realization that this episode will only end when I decide to actually report what happens, so here it is: Liz takes their drink order and walks away, but just before she's cleared earshot, Palm Pilot beckons her back with, "Actually, you know what, there is just one more little thing. Why don't you tell me what really happened in September." Yeah, Liz, bring them up to date. Why don't you even sit them down and read them some of the more revealing sections of The Good Book as a teaching tool? How about the one where you describe the day you had a tea party and invited all of your teddy bears over? Or how about that riveting entry about the time your parents bought you a whole new chemistry set and you did that experiment where you used some ordinary table salt, a pipe cleaner, and three orange rinds to perform an appendectomy on your cousin Timmy? Give these condescending interlopers a little taste of the thrills the rest of us have been experiencing since that fateful September night (that actually took place in October) and see if they decide to stick around or run screaming out of that town like their hair is on fire. I dare you.
Cut to inside of the UFOC, where Michael follows Max into the private office from which Michael was once apprehended while trespassing and subsequently tossed in jail. I'm sorry, but doesn't that sort of event have "Lifetime Ban" written all over it? Max needs to talk. How did Michael forget about Maria? Max can't forget about Liz: "Every time I see her, she just starts going in slow motion." Yes, that's a familiar phenomenon: Max must be thinking of the "look at this button I just found on the camera" directorial propensity on Roswell to frame moments of ostensible drama at one fifth of their actual speed. Michael says Max needs to forget her and stop thinking with his [looks down at Max's alien costume and gestures at the large green jewel that lies salaciously just below the belt] "energy source." Ha ha ha . . . ew. Michael suggests that he throw himself into something else to get his mind off her. Cut to Max talking to Bania the Curator about how the sighting has attracted many experts in the field and Bania needs more help. What a fabulous coincidence. Max offers said help. Man, they're playing "Planet Claire" by the B-52s. Now THIS is music. No, really.
You know that moment in The Crying Game when you think you know what's going on and you're watching a movie about some guy picking up some girl and taking her home and then all of a sudden the girl turns out not so much to be a girl and the guy looks on in abject horror because he can't process the utter randomness and non-sequitur nature of what's going on? Well, folks, welcome to that development, the proverbial "Penis on the Prostitute" moment of plot confusion where all you can do is stare at the screen, tilt your head slightly, and utter a resigned but vaguely dissatisfied "huh?" Ladies and gentlemen, submitted for your approval is the "Alien Takedown," apparently some kind of wrestling match thing where people dress up like aliens and take to the canvas. But I don't know why. Michael expresses his outrage to a nearby Maria about how much he wants to use this convention to discover the meaning of his existence, but keeps being distracted by "kooks like you and freak shows like this." But on cue, the long gone Mrs. "I only show up sporadically, I only get scale pay/I'm such a minor character, why don't I go away?" DeLucawitz storms over and informs Michael that the event is of her planning and them storms again, this time in another direction entirely. Maria chides Michael for making a bad impression, and Ralph and Alice spar once more about it all.
I never really thought there would be an occasion to admit this in such a public forum, but I think it's a sad truth that must be told: I don't know anything about science fiction. I'm not acquainted with even one of the sixteen or so incarnations of Star Trek, which I only watch the last few minutes of when they crop up on UPN before News Radio. I don't know what "Seven of Nine" means, I've never seen an episode of The X-Files, and I've only seen one Star Trek movie that my mom dragged me to when I was really, really young because she thought that "the whales were really cute." And I never thought this gap in my pop-cultural knowledge would haunt me or matter or reveal my shortcomings as a writer, a television viewer, or as the best damned recapper I know how to be. But I was wrong. Because in an episode about a UFO Convention, the stars of science fiction are all out to shine, no? Including a man in a sports jacket who approaches Max Evans and asks if he's in charge of celebrity relations and why he didn't get a suite. "Er, maybe it's because you're nobody," I offer, just before my roommate happens through the room long enough to offer, "Hey, isn't that Commander Riker?" I reply, "Oh, yes, of course it is," then cry bitter tears at still not knowing who that is. But of course I ask no follow-up questions and never bother to research the issue further. Hence, the moniker I settle on: "Famous Guy." Anyway, Famous Guy tells Max that "Milton says you were in charge of celebrity relations." Milton? Well, now, who the hell is THAT? Oh, I think it's Bania. Well, then call him Bania, for crying out loud. Consistency is key. Famous Guy asks why Shatner and Stewart got suites and he didn't. Who? WHO? Okay, Shatner. The guy from the Priceline commercials who did that album I've been downloading since the Internet was invented. That one's clear enough. Shatner I'm down with. But Stewart? Dave Stewart? Jon Stewart? Stuart Little? Perhaps I'll never know.
And he's off, suite-bound. Shortly after Famous Guy's departure, Bania (er, "Milton") approaches to introduce Max to Billy Bob, who I actually do recognize. His real name is Everett Hubble, and he's respected throughout this decidedly unrespectable community for having been rumored to have made "direct contact." Max asks what this alien looked like, and Billy Bob unscarily responds, "A little like you, actually," before defusing the non-tension in this almost non-tension-filled scene by adding, "Or me. They're not little green men, you know." And he's off. Bania tells Max that Billy Bob disappeared thirty years ago, and that no one has seen him since. And if Max really does want to do more, he should get Billy Bob to participate in some kind of "panel discussion." Martha Stewart?
A contemplative Porno sits in his house, thumbing through his loony dad's old stuff. Badge, clippings, some other boring stuff. That's a whole scene.
Max continues "doing more" at the UFOC's Information Booth, fielding a pointless inquiry I won't waste your time relaying. What I will waste your time with is what happens , when Max glances up the steps to see Pippi Longstocking walking toward him in slow motion. Which is a pretty odd development, considering it had never been clearly articulated that Max was in love with Pippi Longstocking, much less that he knew who she was. She walks closer. Oops, it's Liz, in horrible pigtails. Not necessarily a good thing, but at least works more coherently considering that Pippi Longstocking is probably in her forties by now. So as Liz approaches the booth, we hear a voice from behind Max. "Mud," it says. What? "When you're with her, think about mud. It worked for me." Well, it doesn't work for me, and if it isn't dropped right now, there's gonna be some exceedingly unkind recapping going on around here. Max and Liz talk. He's busy and evasive. She brings up Palm Pilot and Jen, and another "my camera also does THIS" moment ensues when it captures Liz in a too too too close close-up which is neither attractive, amusing, or necessary. Lascivious music pumps up to symbolize the effect this moment is having on Max's mojo, and the revelry is broken and the music, a la Ally McBeal, stops abruptly when Max utters it: "Mud." What is there even to say? Perhaps Kermit the Frog said it best in the strongest of the Muppet movies, The Great Muppet Caper: "Yeesh. A running gag." Am I over-referencing dozens of varying genres of both television and film in a vain attempt to prove my cultural worth despite my inherent lack of knowledge concerning all things science fiction? Well, as Famous Guy would say -- okay, how the hell do I know what he'd say? I don't even know the freakin' guy's name, all right?
Porno enters the UFO Center in time to be accosted by DeLucawitz, whom he heavily dissed the last time they met. This trend repeats itself when Porno sees Billy Bob and goes running after him. Meanwhile, Alex "I once was a loser, my passions were moot/But I got a hair cut and now I'm so cute" Whitman accosts Isabel, who tells him he has to stop following her. He says he wasn't, just in time for Maria to run by and clarify, "Oh good, you found Isabel. He was looking for you." Alex is off. So are we.
Cut to UFOC, exterior, where Billy Bob and Porno practice for their auditions to be the Marlboro Man's imminent replacement, so high and proud do their matching cowboy hats gleam in the cheesy neon lights of the entire town. Porno wants to know why Billy Bob came back, and Billy Bob tells him that he knows what's been going on in town recently. Porno: "You got to my father when he was at his weakest, and you pushed him over the edge. Because of you, I had to have him committed." Billy Bob says that he's sure Porno still has questions about that. And something called the Silo Murder. Good thing I have a fast-forward button so I can blaze through those pesky commercials and find out what that means. Oooh, a preview for The Beach. I promise I'll only watch it five or ten times.
Commercials: Y'know, I've heard The Beach isn't really that good. Maybe I'll skip it. And if the historical reference "and monkeys might fly out of my butt" were still a part of the lexicon of popular culture, I'd be saying that right now. Because I just want to see it. I don't even know why.
Meanwhile, back at the UFOC, Bania and Famous Guy pose for photographs while preparing to put their hands into a small square of cement in the sidewalk, mimicking the Hollywood Walk of Fame thing but in Roswell, New Mexico, for people who are not famous. They allude to the other greats in their field again, once more patronizing ignorant little me with references to Shatner and Stewart (Jimmy Stewart?). Then Famous Guy puts his hands in, but the cement square is quite a bit deeper then anticipated, and wacky hijinks ensue as Max and Bania assist Famous Guy out of the ol' cement swimmin' hole he's fallen into. The action freezes and we are informed that we've made it to "Roswell 10th Annual UFO Convention Day Two." I. Don't. Get. It.
Crashdown. With Palm Pilot nowhere in sight, Jen sits alone in a booth deep in reading -- now, try not to guffaw too loudly and drown out the crackling dialogue is this brilliant upcoming scene -- John Gray's Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus. Ack! Stop the quirky madness. Get it? It's the intersection of troublesome interpersonal connections converging with a winking nod to aliens! Bet you never saw that one coming. Personally, I'd really like to stick around for the sequel Mars and Venus Get Hit by a Train and excise this already chaotic script of Palm Pilot and Jen, the most ancillary characters in the history of schlocky primetime drama. Jen asks for more coffee, and Liz tells her that her eyes are a little red. Jen starts to cry and tells Liz that Palm Pilot doesn't like it when she cries. So Liz, suddenly sympathetic, sits down at the booth, dips a napkin into a glass of water, and tells Jen to put it on her eyes so Palm Pilot won't know she's been crying.
Cut to the UFOC, where Michael bemoans the fraudulent nature of all these so-called "experts" and tells Max he wants some real information. He spots Billy Bob from afar and inquires about him. Max, chronic passive-aggression trumping true friendship once more, tells Michael he's never seen him before. Michael spots Palm Pilot across the way and goes "to keep an eye on him." Max takes this opportunity to accost Billy Bob and ask him again about the panel discussion. Max decides to get a little personal and asks Billy Bob if he's ever seen anything. Billy Bob's stage direction for his response must have been, "in the style of translated Japanese stereo instructions." This is completely incomprehensible: "This place you workin' at -- this place -- is a joke." What place? Ooooooh, this place. I see. And then: "If these people knew the truth, they wouldn't all be laughing so hard." Wait. Who's laughing? I don't understand. Max asks him if he really disappeared thirty years ago, as legend has it, and Billy Bob evades the question and walks away. But Max won't stand for this ambiguity, and his top priority is in delving deeper into Billy Bob's enigmatic psyche. Personally, my top priority under similar circumstances would be losing the unflattering mustard vest just as soon as I had a private moment. Max accesses the extremely user-friendly UFOC computer database (see Episode 6, entitled "285 South." Sigh -- why do I just know that right off the top of my head?) and runs a search on Everett Hubble. He was a witness to the 1972 Silo murder outside of Roswell, New Mexico. It's written in a 900-point font. Hence, there's really no need for that left-to-right pan over the sentence fragment "witness to the 1972 Silo murder outside of Roswell, New Mexico." But there is one, anyway.
Cut to The Loony Bin, where Porno is in the process of gratuitously abusing his father and pressing the deranged old coot about events that happened thirty years before Porno Senior's clinical diagnosis of "Off His Rocker With Intent To Become Nuttier Than A Payday Bar" was confirmed by professionals in the field. The pulsing of a perpetual "cuckoo, cuckoo" accompanying his father's every word, Porno really pushes for information: "Dad, try to focus. That night at the murder. At the Silo. Hubble was there?" Oh, come on, Porno. The man is a thousand years old and has been a fugitive from society since ABBA was actually an irony-free musical group. Leave him in peace to live out his waning days with a steady diet of canned pears and Matlock reruns, the way all old people really want to spend the Decembers of their lives. But Porno will have none of this AARP-sanctioned crap about respecting our elders, and he badgers his poor decrepit father for facts until Porno Senior offers, "He couldn't let go of his wife. That was his problem all along." But Porno knows the truth: Billy Bob didn't have a wife. Porno tries to clarify this, but Porno Senior slips back into dementia, vying for that Letterman guest-hosting slot by repeatedly muttering, "It's freezing in here," over and over again. Wow. Great scene.
The last scene was great because it makes this scene reverberate with all the thrills and excitement of Evel Knievel leaping over 200 wrecked cars by driving off a ski ramp covered in thumb tacks riding a Big Wheels covered in rubbing alcohol. By comparison, that is. Jen has moved to the bar at the Crashdown, pouring her heart out to Liz. Y'know, Jen looks sort of familiar. The short, butchy hair, the round face, the vintage clothes, the quirkier-than-thou aspect one can't quite escape. If I didn't know better, I'd go so far as to call her a poor man's Maria DeLuca. But what am I talking about, really? Maria DeLuca is a poor man's Maria DeLuca, after all. Anyway, Jen divulges to Liz that she and Palm Pilot were on their way to get married when they stopped into the Crashdown. The one engaging scene of the series ensued before their nuptials, and Palm Pilot has since gone batty too, traversing the countryside and searching for UFOs. Liz volunteers that she too has a "unique" boyfriend, and drops Max's name to the surprise of Jen. But with so many extraneous subplots brewing, I'll bet you a Crashdown dessert -- that new ice cream treat called "The Twilight Cone" and a stiff shot of "Ridley Scotch" -- that we won't be hearing too much in the way of Jen's suspicious nature any more in this hour.
Ah, yes. The panel discussion. Looks like Max didn't do such a good job of getting Billy Bob to join in, because he just skulks in the corner and stares suspiciously. Famous Guy moderates a discussion on "Direct Contact Witnesses" while the panel confirms that sightings are frequent. Famous Guy calls the witness's name, and Palm Pilot runs eagerly to the microphone and begins recounting his run-in with real, bona-fide aliens. As he starts to spin his yarn about his day at the Crashdown sooooooooooooo very many months before, Michael walks past him and uses his one time-honored power of making someone become really, really itchy. Palm Pilot attempts to finish his story while scratching madly all the while, but soon he becomes agitated when the panel rejects his story and Bania and Max drag him from the room. As Max grabs him, Palm Pilot sort of gestures toward him and says that he was the guy who closed the wound. Right. So I think I get it now -- it's only the people who are actually telling the truth about their brushes with extraterrestrial life that are reviled and called crazy. I hope you're hungry, Palm Pilot. Because scores of easy-open canned fruit salads have your name all over them. Cut to exterior, UFOC, where Billy Bob approaches Palm Pilot and asks for information on the story he just told. Yeah, tell us again too. It's that kind of story you simply can't hear enough times. Unless you do hear it enough times. You think we have? YOU THINK?? Yah.
You mean it's not over? Oh, because I thought that -- damn. Famous Guy poses for pictures with a whole bunch of cheesy tourists, including numerous fat chicks. Max and Bania amble over and Famous Guy screams something at them about wanting his phantom counterparts Shatner and Stewart to replace him. They tell Famous Guy that they're not coming, "but at least your room has been upgraded to a suite." Ha HA! All hail the droll story arc that allowed for this classic punchline. Famous Guy is dragged away by two more fat chicks who can no longer wait patiently for their photograph, and the now-incomprehensibly-annoying freeze frame trumpeting "Roswell 10th Annual UFO Convention Day Three" halts on a shot of Famous Guy flashing a toothy, plastic smile (maybe that IS Shatner, I posit for a moment) posing with two joyful fat chicks. Keep that freeze frame going for one more gratuitous second, will you? I mean, you simply can't overestimate the untapped comic potential of fat chicks, now can you?
Meanwhile, Max grills Bania about the Silo murder. Bania says that Billy Bob never talks about his experience, but rumor has it that Billy Bob found one and has been tracking it ever since. "He could be closer than any of us, Evans." Get it? GET IT?
Meanwhile, back in Pointless Subplot 264-b, DeLucawitz barks into a cell phone that the caller can't back out of the Alien Takedown, as she has half of her "annual revenue tied up in this thing." Yikes, what's the other half invested in, pyramid schemes and Publisher's Clearinghouse magazine subscriptions? Anyway, the Takedown appears to be in trouble when DuLucawitz is hung up on, an event signified by the audible sound of a dial tone on the other end. On a cell phone. Does that happen? ["Only on TV." -- Sars] I imagine panic at losing such a chunk of change would induce DeLucawitz to try the call again, but perhaps she doesn't feel like grappling with the rotary dial. She hangs up and starts to cry. Michael looks on in the shadows. I don't like where this is going. No, wait, let me clarify that. I DON'T LIKE where this is going.
Over in the Den of Porno, Billy Bob explains that this alien he's been tracking is a very, very, very bad alien indeed. Billy Bob shows Porno pictures of many dead victims with the tell-tale silver hand print also familiar from Episode 1. Billy Bob says that Porno Senior isn't really crazy, that he may have "pulled the trigger on the wrong man" back at the still ambiguous Silo thing, but I mean, come on, who hasn't? Billy Bob inquires about Max's involvement in the whole thing, and we cut to Chez Evans to reveal his woefully-underused-in-this-episode sister Isabel, staring out the window and waiting for someone to knock on the door. Knock, knock. It's Alex. He was in the neighborhood. He saw a book about constellations at the convention and he bought it for her. Sadly, it's becoming more and more clear that he just has to leave her alone. She's suffocated by his constant presence. So he leaves.
Meanwhile, the Crashdown has been strangely transformed into the set of Oprah's womyn-friendly made-for-TV movie on the Oxygen Network. Delucawitz and Daughter, Liz, and Jen sit around bemoaning the plague of estrogen and DeLucawitz utters the Lifetime-friendly pearl, "Girls, girls, girls, if I had known real life was going to be this difficult I never would have signed up." Alex comes in to break up the gynofest, and the four scrutinize him disdainfully, unable to welcome any other participants into the conversation save for Annie Potts stopping by with a complimentary vat of the One-A-Day mood enhancer, St. John's Wort. He orders an "orange soda on the rocks," confirming for me the reality that a teenager ordering a non-alcoholic drink in the style of one containing liquor ceased its humorous reign shortly after George McFly ordered a "milk, chocolate" in 1985. He asks them a question "as women," certifying the notion that all women think the same about all things. All the time. Alex asks if women think men are obsessive. The tirade ensues. It's all sorts of pointless, and for once I'm thrilled to see Bania come in and break up the klatch when he busts in and tells DeLucawitz that the Takedown is almost over. Where was she? So they run to the UFOC, where it is quickly discovered that some phantom proxy wearing a disturbingly "bring out the gimp" spandex costume lies splayed out alone in a wrestling ring. DeLucawitz tears off the mask to reveal -- no, really, it was Michael who stood in when the cell phone caller was unwilling to participate. She hugs him and says something fabulous, I'm sure, but my mind wanders briefly concerning which is worse: the evil of this grandly disjointed event or the producers' constant decision to clothe Michael in only the most form-fitting of shirts. She goes to kiss him, and it's redux with the camera angle, the music, and the subsequent punchline: mud. Yeesh. A running gag.
Porno's pitch-black office again. Grainy black-and-white pictures. Again. Porno closely examines one photo of a dead girl with an alien hand print. She's lying in front of a car, and he types the license plate number into a conveniently open program on his computer screen, one perhaps called "Alien License Plates 2.0." It brings up the name "Sheila Hubble."
Meanwhile, Billy Bob finds Max at the UFOC. "What do I need to do to get you to do this panel," Max begs. Billy Bob magnanimously replies, "Your tenacity has won me over." Wait. I think what really won him over is that the panel discussion happened five scenes ago. Lost. Lost again. There's only one problem. He needs his slides for the presentation, and he has to drive home to get them. Max offers to drive him. Entrapment.
Back at The Loony Bin, Porno is putting together the pieces that Billy Bob had a wife after all. There is an extremely confusing series of events that Porno has managed to piece together with one photograph and a license plate number and maybe a Kellogg's Secret Decoder Ring. It has something to do with Billy Bob being really, really bad. Thus the dramatic ante is upped practically to the intensity level of watching dead skin cells not multiply under a microscope slide when Michael espies Max and Billy Bob leaving the UFOC together. Michael sees Palm Pilot and demands answers and, once assaulted physically, offers that Billy Bob came to him for information about the shooting at the Crashdown. And -- AND -- I would like to point out that Palm Pilot uses the EXACT WORDS "he came up to me after the panel discussion. My own vindication and self-righteousness triumphs over any and all further dialogue I might once have felt inclined to relay. I am the champion. I am the champion. No time for losin', 'cause I am the champion. Of the world. Uh. Oh, and Porno concludes somehow that his dad was framed by Billy Bob and that it was really him who "shot the drifter" and to never trust him. What drifter? Oh, I must have been singing too loudly to hear. Sorry about that.
The alienmobile carries Billy Bob and an increasingly weary Max toward Billy Bob's home. Max asks if Billy Bob is going to answer his questions, but Billy Bob is off on a rant about what it feels like to kiss a girl. Black-and-white flashbacks accompany a tale about Billy Bob's first anniversary with his lovely wife. He had to get some matches for fireworks he bought as "a present for his wife." Gee, how romantic. Why not just get her some guns, a hunk of ticking plastic, and a nuclear reactor. Isn't the first year of marriage "The Artillery Anniversary?" Sure, you could also take her out to dinner and light some candles, provided they're the kind that blow up as soon as they're met with a flame. Anyway, he stops in the middle of his story and informs Max, "But you know that, don't you?" But he forgot to get matches and had to get out at Peppers Café. The Dead Again black/white/past/present imagery continues as his story about his attempt to access matches enters its fifteenth marathon hour.
Okay, let's discuss something here. I'll give you the first two lines of the scene, and if you scream in physical duress like your ears are about to bleed profusely all over your fancy computers, I'll stop. Back in the Crashdown, Palm Pilot runs up to Jen.
Palm Pilot: Jen, I have had an epiphany.
Jen: Really? I thought you said it was an allergy attack.
Suffice it to say that the scene ends with them making up. No more? Didn't think so.
Billy Bob tells Max that wifey never did get his surprise. Someone killed her while he was getting matches. Four innocent people lost their lives starting that day, Billy Bob actually counting himself as part of that equation, and he shamelessly -- that meaning completely without shame -- refers to himself using the not-at-all-clichéd moniker "Dead Man Walking." He tells Max that he was just waiting to get Max alone and tells him he's a "shape shifter." Porno told him about the hand print and Liz and the day at the Crashdown. Then Michael shows up out of nowhere, and a slo-mo shot accompanies Max lunging at Billy Bob, and the gun goes flying. Just as Billy Bob gets within close enough range to grab it, Max moves it with his mind, confirming, as the promos promised, that someone would find out Max's secret. For exactly nine seconds. For at that moment, Porno shows up and advances on Billy Bob with a gun. Two guns, four people, requisite Reservoir Dogs imagery firmly in place. Porno demands Billy Bob drop the gun, and when Billy Bob utters the adult version of the elementary-school playground verbal assault, "Nanny, nanny, poo, poo" (something about how Porno's father couldn't pull the trigger and neither can he), Porno shoots and Billy Bob goes down. Porno tells Max he didn't know how dangerous he really was, and Max breaks character by yelling about how Porno is just like Hubble. Heavy breathing ensues. Porno tells them to get out of there and never tell anyone. Max is a little freaked out, saying to Michael, "The one we're looking for has killed people. A lot of people." And they're off, Porno calling in the shooting of a downed Billy Bob and Max and Michael skulking away, looking guiltily sure that none of these vague stabs at an action sequence will even be referenced in week's episode.