Chuck gave this episode a grade of
C-
197 users have given this episode an average grade of
C-
Hi, y'all, I'm Chuck, and I'm the latest foster parent to get saddled with poor, abandoned Roswell. Since Pamie tried the "I've never watched this show and know nothing about it" experiment last week, I figured that, since I've never watched the show either, I'd avoid redundancy by doing a bit of pre-viewing research. Then I realized that it really doesn't matter, as crap is pretty much crap, regardless of how much you know. But I did at least get character names. So, now I'm a marginally informed foster parent, and look forward to abusing my new charge.
Previously: People wandering on a lit dock. Liz tells Max that they came here (wherever that might be) for a reason, because Max's son is in trouble. On another planet. She tells him he needs to go back and "duwatyacamfer." How about a little diction, missy? Cut to partial shot of a spaceship, with voice-over (Max?) explaining that the ship is "there" and has been reassembled. "Our spaceship?" asks an incredulous female voice. No, you ninny, your other ship. An old guy with a gun delivers a message to Max, apparently via some long hair poking into the screen, to stop looking. A brief introduction to shape-shifting, which allows some guy to change appearances but not "what's inside," demonstrated by a bland-looking man morphing into another bland-looking man. Max, in different lighting, whines about his son.
We're in Los Angeles. The caption informs me that Los Angeles is in California, which is good because I wasn't sure. On the hill above a stadium, an old man sitting in a car (previously guy with the gun?) is getting all mushy about the lights of the city -- oh, no wonder he's mushy; he's just gotten blown by some trashy chick, whose head pops up into the shot as she sticks a piece of gum in her mouth. Yuck. This is so not a promising beginning. He gets pissed as she goes to light a cigarette, says how he quit, reminds her that she's forbidden to smoke in the car, tells her to smoke outside. Considering how attractive he is, which is not at all, and considering what she's just done, which is just this side of unbelievable, I'd say she has every right to enjoy a smoke. Hope it helps get rid of the taste, honey.
She protests, shrilly, complains that it's cold (um, then perhaps she should rethink that little non-dress she's wearing); he yammers on about her impending smoking-related demise, and she barks that he'll kill her before cigarettes do. Hmmm. Talk of dying on UPN; the Grim Reaper can't be far behind. She finally relents, stomping off to enjoy her tiny taste of death in peace. Of course, he gets whacked two seconds later: Dame Hoover gets blinded by a flash of light and then sees a glowing member of the trenchcoat Mafia walking away from the car. Pan to her, all freaked out, walking toward the car, bleating, "Joey?" And then we see what she sees, which is Joey, all burnt up and toasty-like, his skull smoking. Hee hee. Smoking.
“ Brown shows Max a picture of Joey and asks if Max recognizes him. Max says no; Brown says, 'You sure?' Because so often someone will be like, 'Oh, yes, you know what, I totally do recognize him, Mr. Crafty Officer. You got me.' ”
It's daylight, and things go all "Jamie's Got a Gun" meets CSI with a close-up of police tape unspooling, then more close-ups of a coroner's van and the tire of a squad car. Shaky-cam action, blah blah blah, lots of people milling about looking official; two guys in suits wander in from opposite sides of the screen, apparently continuing an already-in-progress conversation. "So, how's a guy burn to death in his car without leaving behind so much as a scorch mark?" asks Suit One. I know the answer! Get some head from a skanky ho and then piss her off by making her smoke outside! Suit Two says that the "female witness says she saw an otherworldly figure." They start shuffling through the glove compartment and identify the dead guy as Joseph Ferrini, Jr., and then they find a scrap of paper with a New Mexico license plate on it.
And then there's the license plate itself, in all its Southwestern glory. Attached to a car. Amazing. An arm with a law enforcement patch knocks on a door. Max opens it; Michael sits at a counter behind him. The fuzz identifies himself as Deputy Brown from the Roswell Sheriff's department -- I really love it when they name black characters "Brown." I get so confused. Brown wants to ask Max some questions about a homicide (which he says like "Homo Side," just for the record, so perhaps he's looking for the new gay bar in town). Max looks down, all serious and demure, and the screen fades to the credits. Dido? No, thank you. So, I'm sure many have made note of this before, but Jason BEHR and Brendan FEHR?? Now that's otherworldly. Or just plain stupid.
Back to Max and lusty Officer Brown; Brown shows Max a picture of Joey (yep, he's the guy with the gun) and asks if Max recognizes him. Max says no; Brown says, "You sure?" Because so often someone will be like, "Oh, yes, you know what, I totally do recognize him, Mr. Crafty Officer. You got me." Max asks Brown who the guy in the photo is, and Brown gives him the rundown, in this out-of-place tone reminiscent of bad porn acting, while moving his eyes up and down really obviously, like he's checking Max out. But Mr. Policeman, I didn't order any pizza! Because they found Max's license plate number in Joey's car, Brown wants to know what's going on. Max says he has no idea, that he's only had the car for a couple of months. A close-up of Michael chewing, and then a close-up of the photo, and then a close-up of Michael chewing really slowly, tells me that Michael knows who this guy is, even if Max doesn't, and that Michael's hair was most likely the addressee in last week's shakedown scene.
At this point, Officer Brown becomes a plot catch-up device, reminding Max that he was arrested for armed robbery in Utah a few weeks ago (and imagining Max all imprisoned and stuff, I'm sure), in case he managed to block that hour out. Max says, "Those charges were dropped," and Officer Brown gets all huffy about what powerful lawyer daddies can do. As he leaves, Brown tells Max, "I'll be watching you." I bet he will. Brown puts on his cowboy hat, nods, and wanders off from whence he came, the flirtation over. "Great. This is all I need," says Max, at which point Michael and his hair flash back to Joey delivering his message and shooting out the back window of a pick-up truck. Michael tells Max he knows the dead guy.
“ They're recapping recent events, helping out us newbies, with talk of shape-shifters, mysterious deaths that look like freak lightning strikes, Max's son (enough already!), and some other stuff that I can't really understand because they both sound like their mouths are stuffed with cotton, and I've misplaced my alien decoder ring. ”
Now Max is outside, wearing a different t-shirt, leaning against a tree, hair playfully mussed. He's talking to Liz. They're recapping recent events, helping out us newbies, with talk of shape-shifters, mysterious deaths that look like freak lightning strikes, Max's son (enough already!), and some other stuff that I can't really understand because they both sound like their mouths are stuffed with cotton, and I've misplaced my alien decoder ring. Of Joey, Liz says, "So he's the same guy. That wanted us to stop looking for your ship." Period. No question mark. Like she's the one who's been explaining everything to Max. It's funny; three days ago, I'd never heard of Shiri Appleby, except in passing barbs, and then, suddenly, in just one line, I understand everything. In addition to dreadful delivery, she looks disarmingly like Rachel from Real World San Francisco, without the disturbing super-buggy eyes. I think I hate her.
Max thinks a shape-shifter alien killed Joey -- apparently, there were two of them, but one died. So there's one left. Finally, something that makes sense. Two minus one equals one. I follow. Liz says, "How do you know. That he's not gonna try and kill you too." And then she looks like she made a no-no in her pants. Max knows it's risky, but he feels like he needs to contact his son. Whoops, lost again. Liz, quick on the uptake, says, "You have to contact your son. And the shape-shifter is the only one who might know how," summing things up poorly, and clarifying nothing. She finds her mark, steps forward, and drones, "Where do we start." Los Angeles. Duh.
She mopes over to the car and gets in, as though they're going to leave for Los Angeles this very second, without packing, even though they've been moving pretty slowly up to this point, and Max had time to change before meeting her. They argue about whether she'll go along, because she has a thing with her father (excuse me?) and because danger lurks. Liz says, "At least I've been to LA," to which Max replies, "I don't think Disneyland counts as LA." I can't even dredge up the energy to give that exchange the treatment it deserves, and I'm only ten minutes in. It's emotive music time, as Max says that he'll go alone, and Liz whines about staying behind, wondering what she should do, "Just go to class and pretend that everything's fine?" I swell with pride that she's actually managed to inflect a question, as Max assures her that she'll be along for every step of the way.
And go to class Liz does, apparently right away, where she gets a text message from Max ("MISS YOU ALREADY") on her Nokia cell phone while she's sitting in front of a giant Apple computer. The teacher interrupts Liz's reverie to inform her that she's been put on a team with Mr. Valenti and ask her what she thinks of them apples; Liz registers confusion, which I imagine is one of her few authentic emotions. The large-headed, helmet-coiffed gentleman to her stage-whispers, "Say yes," so Liz says, "Yes." Good Liz. I'm guessing Helmethead is Kyle Valenti. The teacher explains that "the job of the investigative journalist is to tell the truth no matter how uncomfortable or unpleasant that may be," and writes "the truth" on the blackboard for the deaf children in the room. She wants the class to take some big-ass cameras (what, they couldn't get some company to whore themselves and donate digital ones?) and go out and find some truth. I can't. I won't. I will: The truth is out there. Over on a better network.
“ Kyle explains that Grampy spills a lot of stuff (like those old folks do, ya know), like soup, or other spilly stuff, and that as soon as they, like, clean it up and stuff, they can go home. Um, don't nursing homes usually employ soup-swabbers? Just a thought, but if Kyle has to hotfoot it over there every time someone spills a little soup, then he's got to be seriously lacking in the life department. ”
A man suddenly shows up at the classroom door and begins communicating in the ancient dialect of "gesture and facial expression" to Kyle, who appears to understand since he rises and starts to walk out of the room. Kyle then speaks a bit of "point and look serious" to the teacher, who nods. Kyle and the man then begin discussing whatever serious issue brought him to the school. WHILE THEY ARE STANDING IN THE DOORWAY. RIGHT WHERE EVERYONE CAN HEAR THEM. Maybe it's just me, but if you need to talk to somebody about something that merits ambiguous sign language, then you're probably looking for a bit of privacy. Guess there wasn't enough in the budget for "Hallway."
Odds are that the unidentified man is Kyle's father, since he tells Kyle about receiving news of an incident at the nursing home involving his (Kyle's) grandfather, and since I'm thinking that Roswell isn't the kind of show where neighbors drop by with that sort of intelligence. Pops tells Kyle to go to the nursing home and deal with things; Kyle looks bummed, and Dad bolts. The bell rings. Liz jumps up, grabs her "new to you" circa-1972 video camera, and goes over to ask Kyle what's up as though she didn't hear everything. They stand in the doorway to talk, blocking everyone's way as they try to leave the room. What's with these people and doorways? Modes of egress are never suitable locations for conversations. Just move on through, folks, and don't loiter.
Four hands, two watches, and a ring in a box. Jesse's giving Isabel an engagement ring, and also placing words into her mouth. She's too breathy to finish sentences, so he's saying what he wants to hear. Isabel: "I'm, I'm" Jesse: "Speechless." Isabel: "It's just, just" Jesse: "Beautiful." She says that it's gorgeous, but that she can'tJesse: "Believe it?" No. Down, boy. Isabel can't wear the ring, because, although the ring is perfect, Jesse is perfect, and everything is perfect (if that is indeed the case, she's one lucky alien), the ring announces to the world that they are engaged. Jesse reminds Isabel they are, in fact, engaged, and then he realizes Isabel hasn't told her parents. They're holding hands and drinking out of humungaloid glasses with Crazee Straws, which are by far the most interesting things in the scene. Isabel mentions that her parents don't even know she's dating Jesse, but promises to tell them that night. Then she goes all girly over the ring again.
Kyle and Liz, walking up the staircase at the nursing home. Kyle explains that Grampy spills a lot of stuff (like those old folks do, ya know), like soup, or other spilly stuff, and that as soon as they, like, clean it up and stuff, they can go home. Um, don't nursing homes usually employ soup-swabbers? Just a thought, but if Kyle has to hotfoot it over there every time someone spills a little soup, then he's got to be seriously lacking in the life department. They're still walking up stairs, so this place must have several floors, which seems odd in a nursing home, since, if old people spill, they probably also fall. Liz, who follows too many men and asks too many questions, wonders why Kyle's father won't clean up the soup, and Kyle tells her that his dad hasn't visited in over a year, likely because Grampy lost his job searching for aliens and ruined Kyle's father's life. Liz stops and gets all educational, reminding Kyle that there are aliens, that his Grampy was right, and that Kyle's dad knows this. Kyle warns Liz not to start pointing out the ironies in his family life, as they never cease. He walks off, leaving Liz perplexed by the word "irony."