First of all, a massive shout-out to The Platypus Solution, who stepped in and saved my lame ass after a losing scuffle with TiVo threatened to derail this week's recap.
Previously: Jesse, on bended knee, asks Isabel to marry him; she says yes. Max moans about contacting his son and sees the spaceship in the storage facility; Joey and his gun deliver a message yet again; Max talks about the shape-shifter. Joey gets smoked, Cal Langley (slumming guest star Joe Pantoliano) strides into a restaurant, then confronts Max in the Paramount film archive, blows him against the wall, and starts a fire with his multi-purpose power-hand.
The episode begins with a way-too-long close-up of Max's closed eye. Eye, eye, and more closed eye, and then open eye, and we pan slowly away to see Max's face lit by flame. And then we pan even further out to reveal the fire, burning…halfway across the room. That shape-shifter really isn't too effective with the scary death-threat thing if he can only create a flame several feet away from his intended victim. Kind of a letdown, really; I'm ready to watch people (especially Max) burst into flame. I'll have to forge ahead through my haze of disappointment.
Cal Langley, in full bald glory, puts his foot on Max's chest and asks what he's doing there. Why, just searching for some old film stills so he can watch some real actors at work! Max says he's looking for the ship from the '47 crash. Langley smells a conspiracy, and asks with whom Max is working. The bottom of the barrel, Langley, the bottom of the barrel. Max insists that he walks alone; Langley growls that he'll kill him if he's lying. Looks like he'll kill him if he isn't. Langley asks how Max got to LA; Max rattles off his driving route. That's just too sassy and insouciant -- what balls, Max! Literalism in the face of death. Langley, like me, is not amused by this cutesy behavior, and calls Max a "prick." Words right out of my mouth. Max asks if Langley kills everyone who discovers he's an alien. Langley changes the subject, which for me means, "Why yes, I do," and wonders why Max thinks he knows where to find the ship.
Max tells him that he knew it was in Utah, which rings some sort of bell, since Langley then hoists Max up against the wall (he's obviously standing on a block here, since Joe P. can't be that strong) and demands to know who else possesses the Utah intelligence. Max complains about the smoke, and coughs a few times for annoying emphasis, so we know that we're still in California; Langley courteously extinguishes the distant fire. Max climbs off his block so they're face to face as Langley deadpans, "So, this is the mighty king of Antar, a low-rent Tom Cruise with a ten-dollar haircut?" This insider, self-referential, pat-ourselves-on-the-back twist, so prevalent in last week's Paramount fest, is really lifting Roswell to a new level of intelligence. Because nobody's ever done that before. It's really nifty. And that haircut cost at least $12.50 -- just look at the attention to highlight (the fire really brings it out)!
Langley -- emotive actorly intensity flaring -- tells Max he has no idea what he's getting himself into; Max responds that he's come all this way to find him, and that he needs his help. Langley is supposed to be his protector, for God's sake. Langley (and now we get a close-up of his expensive-looking, frameless, wussy designer glasses) informs Max that he does not wish to be called "protector." Well, yes, says Langley, I was indeed put on your ship to protect you, but that was fifty years ago, and I really don't appreciate you barging into my sweet LA producer lifestyle, full, I'm sure, of cocaine and hookers, and telling me I have to watch out for your sorry ass. Sort of -- this little expository exchange is so mind-numbingly boring that I must resort to poetic license or die. And then Langley puts out the fire with his special hand.
Max coughs again, politely, and Langley calls for his boys -- two beefy security types, who must have been lurking outside the door, listening to the whole film-endangering fracas. So they must know that Langley is an alien. So he must be about to kill them. Good. More death. Alas, it is not to be, as Langley tells Max to scoot his butt out of town -- or die -- and directs the bouncers to escort him "to my airplane," emphasizing the "my" so we know it belongs to him, and that he's a very powerful man. In case we hadn't caught that before. It hurts to be hit with a board like that, and we haven't even made it to the credits. A long, torturous experience spreads itself before me. The boys drag Max from the room, who protests like he's just swallowed five Vicodins.
Thank God that's over. Or maybe not, since Isabel's on the screen. At a wedding-to-be. Having a conversation about her desire for a country wedding -- something simple, just like her -- with a wedding planner. Ewww -- a very scary wedding planner, who looks like the spawn of Reese Witherspoon and a conehead. This woman is all about pointy angles, which probably well equips her for wedding planning. She uses the word "brainstorming," and refers to Isabel's mother as "Mom," without any pronouns, like that's her actual name, both of which immediately mark her for elimination in the universe where I reside. Isabel's mother pops in to deny that she's has any part in planting the country wedding notion in Isabel's addled mind, adding that she can hardly get used to the idea of Isabel getting hitched. Isabel takes umbrage, reminding Mom that she promised to be supportive. Her mother replies with a shrug and a throwaway line that says, "Like hell I did," and the wedding planner delivers some prim, patronizing response that I'm sure they include in the training manual, before spouting some hooey about languishing lilies and galloping off to be officious elsewhere.
Isabel stays pissy with "Mom," scolding her for being too negative. Her mother (let's call her Eunice, just for kicks) replies that she's still in shock, as she can barely get used to the idea of Isabel graduating from high school, even though she's clearly pushing thirty. Sad -- a decade in high school with nothing learned. Isabel reminds Eunice that they "have been discussing this for forty-eight hours straight," and that she was the one who hired the annoying wedding planner. Right on about the wedding planner, Isabel, but you're smoking some serious crack if you think that forty-eight hours of marathon sharing is nearly enough to assuage a mother who had no idea you were even dating Jesse, let alone planning to marry the guy. Grow up, Miss Snivel. On another note, Eunice is so not flattered by my VCR's pause button. She's definitely a woman who has been through the wringer. Anyhooch, Eunice defends the decision to retain the Wedding Freak because "if" Isabel is planning to go through with this, she needs to have a plan -- and because clearly neither Isabel nor Eunice is capable of making anything happen smoothly. Isabel gets upset about the "if," and WF reappears, apparently after delanguishing her lilies. Isabel starts yammering about her country wedding again -- freshly mown field, pond, barn, blah blah blah -- and WF systematically dismantles Martha's -- er, Isabel's cutesy-poo idea. There's insects and stuff out there in the country. She recommends the lobby of the Springfield Inn (great -- so Marge and Homer can attend), saying she's done a whole bushel of great weddings there, but Isabel gets huffy (her apparent specialty -- the whole, entire, mean and ugly world just hates you, Isabel, don't they?), and says she wants her own wedding, not someone else's. I suppose she has a point -- I wouldn't want to get hitched in a hotel lobby either. But then again, I don't want to get hitched, period.
Jesse shows up, and says something stupid about lighting the barn with torches, er, not tiki torches, er, or maybe not torches at all, since maybe torch isn't the right word. Perhaps…candles (both a novel idea and a difficult word to remember, Jesse). WF mentions that old barn equals firetrap; Isabel quips that that's why there will be a pond, then introduces Jesse, adding "fiancé," since it wasn't completely obvious who he was the second he appeared. WF asks when the big day will be, Isabel says "this spring," and Eunice has a conniption about the accelerated timeframe. "Why wait?" simpers Jesse, to which Eunice responds, "This is not a race. You two just got engaged." Word to your mama. Isabel, wounded again, tells Eunice to be happy, because this is what she wants, and they're planning her wedding, which will be "fun" and "great." And neat and cool and swell, too. WF smirks about young love, and Eunice looks like she'd rather be enjoying a root canal, since her daughter is falling into the age-old conundrum: stupid women, stupid choices.
Champagne glasses clink, and we're back in La-La-Land, at a swanky party complete with sprawling mansion, expansive pool, and approximately four guests. It's Cal Langley's, of course, and the producer extraordinaire is walking and talking with some blonde hair and very fake boobs shoved into a bandage dress, and a guy wondering about Tiffany -- "did she walk?" No, says Cal (we're on a first-name basis now -- eat your hearts out, little people); he bumped up her per diem, got her a bigger trailer, and got Brian (who looks like he stepped out of a Banana Republic catalog back when they were all safari, and is wearing an ascot. An ascot) to rewrite the part. "My finest hour," quips Brian, shoving canapés into his mouth. "Now the hooker is a part-time yoga instructor." Which tells me that Tiffany is really stupid, since part-time yoga instructors don't win Oscars.
And then, it's Max, all suited up (open collar, thank you, for that certain quelle temps fait-il) with a new, short, spiky haircut. "Sorry I'm late," he says, with a canapés-devouring flourish, "I was on the phone with Variety." Sure, stick Freak-Boy in a suit and pretty him up a bit, and suddenly he's moved from auditioning for a bit part on Enterprise to gabbing about his new idea with industry rags. Cal's wearing different designer glasses, but he's still bald, and he still looks annoyed. And he thought that Max was on an "aeroplane." Nope. Discussing his new "project." Max gets all schmoozy and introduces himself -- "Max Evans. Antar Films." Safari Brian looks confused, Blonde Boobies smiles, and Cal looks like Max smells of dung.
Liz and Maria in the kitchen, where Liz removes her first batch of "M&M Tabasco Swirl Cookies" from the oven. She's pumped that she came up with the recipe all by herself, which is a load of bunk, since my Joy of Cooking has a killer one -- it's a huge hit a family gatherings. She's making Max a care package. Maria, dropping a photo of Liz into what looks like a hatbox decorated by a preschooler, disapproves. I'd disapprove too, except that I really don't care. There must be a whole lot of nothing to do in Roswell. Maria says that Max is spoiled, that he hasn't even been gone a week. Liz blushes and tells Maria to let her finish, since Max "is calling in less than an hour." Maria asks if they're actually going to speak or just "breathe heavy into the phone" or perhaps "repeat each other's names back and forth and back and forth." I like Maria -- she's making my job much easier. Liz, excited, grabs Maria's face and kisses her lips, and just when things look like they might get interesting, in walks Isabel to rain on the Sapphic parade.
Isabel drops the wedding bomb, Liz and Maria pretend to care, and then Isabel, Filofax in hand, starts blabbing about stupid wedding traditions, like the garter toss, the chicken dance (can someone help me out here? What the hell is the chicken dance? The "I feel like chicken tonight" dance? When did that become a wedding must-have?), and bridesmaids. And since "you guys are the closest thing I have to girlfriends, I was wondering if you would be mine." Well, geez, Isabel, how could they possibly refuse, when you sell it so well? Especially since being in a wedding is so much fun. They agree with about as much excitement as Isabel seems to feel about the wedding, and I'm feeling like I've missed some details crucial to a full understanding of this scene -- and of Isabel's plotline -- and then I realize that I don't give a rat's ass. Isabel checks "bridesmaid" off her to-do list, wonders if the package is for Max, seconds the notion that he's spoiled, tells the ladies that Max doesn't know about her engagement and that she'd like to keep it that way, and then says, "Maria, I'm gonna need you tell Michael for me. Okay, see ya." And then she disappears, leaving Liz, Maria, and me with virtual whiplash. If Isabel's so jazzed about her impending nuptials, why is she so petrified to tell anyone? Loser. Maria turns to Liz and asks, "Did that just happen?" Yes, Maria, it did. I saw it. Unfortunately.
At Cal's party, Max is presenting his new "project" to a rapt audience -- it looks like each and every guest has gathered to listen attentively, which I'm sure is exactly what happens all the time at producer parties when some first-timer starts ranting about his latest idea. "An alien, stranded on Earth, tries to find his way back home," says Max, as the camera pans past a table littered with Emmys. Points for subliminal suggestiveness -- I'm sure Emmy voters will awake tomorrow with a strange compulsion to bestow awards on a scrappy little show called Roswell. "Like ET?" breathes Blonde Boobies. Sort of, except this one sucks. "Yes," replies Max, "but think Tom Cruise." Okay, this is about the twentieth reference to Tom Cruise since I started watching last week. What gives? If being in-the-know is the goal, why are the writers being so lame and obvious? Oh, I forgot. Because they're lame and obvious. Brian opines that it would be more like Starman, demonstrating his familiarity with the classics, and Cal says that Starman didn't open, leaning over to light a cigar in a candle. While doing this, he sticks his pinky finger into the flame (he's holding it out like some British matron drinking tea) and doesn't flinch or burn. Max stops pitching to watch Cal, which should inspire the other people in the room to follow his gaze toward Cal's miraculous finger. Even if Max knows why Cal isn't burning, you'd think someone else might point out the fact that a very powerful producer is risking injury by sticking his hand into the fire. But they don't, of course. Maybe Cal is such an asshole that everyone secretly hopes he'll burst into flames.
Max insists that the story gets better, and barrels ahead. Seems that our alien hero hunts down another alien, also trapped on Earth, who's the only one who can help our hero on his quest. "How?" asks a fellow named Scott; Max answers that there's a ship (Max flashes a big Tom Cruise smile here, and Cal giggles), and this alien might know where to find it. This other alien is a "big Hollywood producer," and suddenly everyone's eyes light up, because now Max is talking about them! Cal loves it but, heating up this polite, subtext-laden war of words, says he doesn't like "feel-good science fiction flicks" -- they're only interesting if somebody dies. Max makes a stymied face, and shuts up.
Isabel, wearing some darling blue PJs and brushing her hair, walks into her bedroom to find Michael sitting at her desk. She's annoyed that he didn't ring the doorbell (to her room?); he just says that he got her message, and optimistically asks if it's a joke. No way, José, says Isabel, I'm goin' to the chapel! Michael (is Brendan Fehr Canadian?) reminds her that they agreed not to bring anyone else into this, whatever that might be. Isabel says she doesn't want to put her life on hold (as if fifteen years of high school didn't do just that) and that this is her one chance to be happy, to love someone and have him love her back, without all the garbage that has made them miserable for their entire lives. Then she takes a breath. Get this girl a Prozac! Then, in her wise, knowing way, she says that, after much thought, she sees no reason that Jesse needs to know the truth, which is such a positive way to start your life as a wife. Michael replies, "Well, knowing what I know about alien sex, he's gonna have major questions after the honeymoon." A nice, deflating rejoinder that nonetheless conjures some very unpleasant images, mostly involving Isabel and Jesse as humans. Isabel tells Michael to get out; he rises, with much fanfare of hair, and asks what Max thinks of this whole debacle. Isabel says she'll tell him when he gets back, and then pleads with Michael to congratulate her. "On what?" he growls, and leaves the room.
The guests are leaving Cal's party, and Safari Brian hands Max a card, telling him to call tomorrow. What, they're not going home together? Bummer -- I want to see some of this alien sex Michael mentioned. Max winks at Brian, and then Cal comes up and tells Max to stay to discuss the pitch. "I've got something I want to throw at you," says Cal. Brian takes his leave, hops into a car with Foreshadowing, and speeds off into the night. Cal follows Max back into the house, closes the door, and then swings around and puts the power-hand into action, hurling Max halfway up the carpet-covered marble staircase. Max comes tumbling back down and turns to looks at Cal, who's channeling Joan Crawford-does-bad-sci-fi: constipated, demonic look on face, claw-like hand outstretched. Cal is justifiably furious that Max came into his home, taunted him in front of his friends, and threatened to expose him. Justifying himself, Max says, "I have a son," which, though that nugget excuses him from nothing in my mind, shuts Cal up. His little mental wheels whir, and he says, exasperated, "You made him with another alien hybrid." Max, getting all intense, explains that his hybrid-spawn is back on Antar, and in trouble; this, apparently, explains his need for the ship "and one of its pilots." Cal says the Air Force reassembled the ship, and it will never fly. Max insists that Cal is the only person that can get it to work; Cal grabs Max's neck in a stranglehold and says, "I told you I would kill you." Max, looking suddenly old, puffy, and generally Kevin Spacey-like, retorts, "You're gonna have to." So, Cal drops Max to the floor, raises his mighty hand, and directs a burst of explosive power toward…a large vase, which shatter and falls. Letdown! Max realizes that Cal can't kill him, that he's had so many chances but could never do the deed, because Cal is Max's protector. Flush with his new sense of power, Max tells Cal to get as mad as he wants, but he's not going anywhere until Cal helps him. Cal, seriously pissed, body-slams Max as he leaves the foyer, treating us to yet another close-up of Max, a determined look etched on his face.
Back at the Crashdown, Liz drops a plate of food with a big purple sparkly thing on it in front of a guy at the counter, and then she and Maria start gabbing about Isabel's marriage plans, ignoring all the other customers. Maria calls the wedding "a disaster of epic proportions," which I think also describes this episode pretty well. Maria says that Michael freaked out when he heard the news, and that Max will definitely go ballistic. "And who," she wonders, "is Jesse Ramirez?" Eunice walks in and sidles up to the girls, who both register caught-in-the-act-of-gossiping-about-your-daughter surprise. A chipper Eunice asks what's new. Maria says "nothing," and Liz looks really unhappy to be there; Eunice says she's looking for Michael, who still has her 9x13 casserole dish, which held a yummy treat that Isabel delivered for Max "weeks ago." Bitch wants her plate back, and asks Maria to relay the command to Michael. Then she moves in for the real reason for her drop-by, asking Liz how Max is doing. After Liz proffers a revealing and heartfelt "fine," Eunice asks for Max's new cell phone number, since he changed it when he moved out; she's left messages at Michael's but doesn't even know if he's still living there. Maria mouths something that I can't decipher, even with repeated replays. Eunice just wants to talk to her son, she says, to know that he's safe. "I'm sure you can understand that, can't you?" she says. I don't know, Eunice; you used some pretty big words in there, like "talk" and "son." You probably lost her. Liz takes a few seconds to process, then says, "I'm sorry but I can't help you." Maria looks uncomfortable; Eunice displays a just-smacked look of bewilderment and walks out, defeated.
Maria, impressed by Liz's "open defiance of a parental unit [haven't heard that one in a while]," thinks that things are "so twisted and romantic" and that Liz and Max "are totally Romeo and Juliet, against the world." Wait, I thought that was Isabel and Jesse. Whatever -- maybe that means they'll both end up dead soon, which would be ample cause for celebration. Not quite, says Liz, bursting that bubble -- Romeo never called last night. She removes the just-offered plate of food from the guy at the counter, who protests since he'd only had time to take about two bites. Maria bolsters for a meltdown, and tells Liz that "he better be in a ditch somewhere." Liz tells her not to say such things; Maria replies that she just meant that breaking a phone date is a big don't, and Liz says that she's simply trying to convince herself that he's safe, busy, and neglectful. Maria, suggesting the obvious solution, encourages Liz to call "his alien butt," which she won't do because she doesn't want to turn into some co-dependent girlfriend, especially since Max is knee-deep in this whole serious quest thing. Because calling would certainly thrust her into the realm of psycho-kitty. Word, says Maria, but, like, this quest might take until forever, and Liz thanks her for the "pippatalk." Maria continues, assuring Liz that Max is madly in love with her, and tells her not to forget that she's half of the couple. Certainly not the better half. Actually, I don't think this couple has a better half.
Cal's getting a massage by the pool; Max walks out and Cal tells Giselle, the masseuse, to scoot. Max wonders why someone who can't feel anything gets massages, confronts him about the hand-in-the-candle incident, and says he thinks that Cal can't taste or smell, either. Seems Cal has about a bazillion lemons in his fridge; Cal deadpans, "I like tea." Then Cal hops up from table -- as Max recounts his boring, sense-deprived coming out (of the pod) story -- and launches into a lengthy discourse explaining his existence and justifying his choices as Max follows him around the pool. But not before I'm exposed to the harrowing site of a topless Joe Pantoliano, which threatens to summon my last meal. Cal tells Max he's lucky to have any human DNA in him (Max asks if he has "human envy," which is just appalling); Cal can afford any sensual pleasure on the planet, but he can't enjoy them, "not like they can." Max wonders how Cal can stand living on Earth. By way of reply, Cal explains that he's diminished his "alienness" by not shape-shifting, which gives the body a chance to function. By 1978 he could smell chlorine, and then lemons. And that's it. Ah, the irony. Money can't buy olfactory bliss.
Plucking a rose from a massive arrangement, holding it up to his nose and not smelling it, Cal tells Max not to be sorry for him, settles down like he's about to be interviewed by Barbara Walters, and says, "I love my life. Can you say the same?" Max pulls out the whole son-in-danger sob story and asks once more for help. Cal refuses, since this is his home, which, in case we weren't sure, is "Hollywood. California. USA. Planet Earth." Before he can spin off into the solar system, his cell phone saves the day; Cal takes the call and begins a terse business conversation with someone called Nicky Baby. Something about a contract. He finishes the call with, "I only yell because I love," which I'll be using in the future -- I'm sure it'll go over really well with all my minions (you'll like that, won't you, Sars?). ["NO!! I only yell because I love. Okay, I'm totally stealing that." -- Sars] Oh, and he wasn't yelling.
Then he calls Max "Kid" and tells him he's got something that will cheer him up. It's product plug time, as the camera zooms in on a Nokia combo cell phone/email doohickey, given to Cal by the CEO of Nokia (he got the CEO's granddaughter an audience with Brad Pitt -- finally, an actor besides Tom Cruise!). Now we know who's paying for this disaster masquerading as television. Dick Cheney is the only other lucky pooter with one of these gizmos, says Cal, and George W. is still pissed. Since he doesn't have much else going on, I guess he can get huffy about who has better toys. Max tells Cal to give him the phone if it's that special, which Cal does. Gives it to him, as in "take it, it's yours." Max, confused, protests mildly, but Cal says he's simply trying to take Max's advice to be more giving. As Cal leaves, telling Max to have a sandwich or take a swim (but wait half an hour!), music swells and a look of realization marches across Max's face.
Eunice walks in front of pictures of a giant fruit, calling Isabel's name; she walks in on her daughter and Jesse, making out in the kitchen, and all three look overly embarrassed. Eunice wants the number of the printer they used for Isabel's graduation announcement -- an occasion, long in coming, deserving of engraved fanfare -- which Isabel says is in her handy-dandy planner. She offers to retrieve it, but Eunice, sensing a wide-open door for snoopage, says she'll find it herself and suggests that Isabel and Jesse "go back to doing whatever it was you were doing." Cleaning the oven, sweetheart. The two lovebirds go all smiley and google-eyed with each other, as the high-drama indicator music swells and Eunice makes a beeline for Isabel's tres-chic zebra-striped planner. It flips open to a huge Post-It with Max's cell phone number written in 27-point letters -- 505-555-0146. I'm calling shortly to tell him that he's a moron.
In Cal's kitchen, Max enjoys a snack (a jar of Tabasco sitting tellingly on the counter) when, of course, his cell phone rings. This confuses him since he's still entranced by the Nokia device, but he quickly emerges from the fog and answers. It's Eunice, excited as if she's about to order an 80-piece Hummel figurine set from QVC. She wants to know how and where Max is. Good, and in California (to get rich and famous, so I can buy you and Daddy a house and a new Cadillac!). Discouraged by the sorry state of her family, Eunice asks if Max knows that his sister is about to tie the knot with Jesse Ramirez. Max does indeed go a little ballistic upon hearing the news, and asks if she's okay with this; Eunice says no one gives a crap what she thinks, but that Isabel values his opinion. She asks Max to talk some sense into Isabel's mile-thick skull, which he will (oh yes, he will), and if he needs anything. No, says Max; Eunice says she wanted to hear her son's voice (Max, I presume, can relate, but maintains stoic, alien-king composure) and that she loves him very much. "Me too," says Max, and it's obvious that he really does love himself. He hangs up. By this time, Cal has wandered in, wearing a very silly-looking distressed sweater (long vertical gashes revealing different-colored fabric, like a Cliff Huxtable monstrosity made even worse), and asks, "How's Mommy?"
Max doesn't answer; he's too busy concentrating on the gift phone, again, and asks why Cal gave it to him. "I'm huge, I can get another one," says Cal, munching on a lemon, but Max ain't buying. "Langley, stop," says Max; he does. Ominous music: "Look at me." He does. Max asks if he likes ice cream; Cal reveals that he's on The Zone (his topless appearance leads me to believe that The Zone is failing, so I say indulge, Cal, indulge!), and Max asks if Cal would like to give him some ice cream. No, says Cal, smiling. "Langley, get me some ice cream," orders Max, which works; Langley pulls some Ben & Jerry's from the freezer, confirming Max's hypothesis that Langley must obey him. Max says he wishes he knew these rules sooner, since they could have saved a lot of time (me, too, Max. Imagine my excitement at the idea of excising minutes from the show). Then he goes all commando, telling Langley that they're gonna find that ship. Langley looks displeased but resigned. That whole ice-cream scene was really disturbing, as it possessed some very creepy master/servant, inverted daddy/boy sexual overtones; they will haunt my dreams and scar my waking moments if I struggle to unravel them any further.
A big black Mercedes, vanity plates "U I OWN," pulls up to the cardboard security booth at the United States Air Force Wm. Norton Research Center, American flag a-flying. The guard waves Langley and Max through, and they drive on to the lot. Max follows Langley up a flight of stairs, discussing the "plan" loud enough for the entire Air Force to overhear -- Langley will meet with General Chambers, "the military consultant I have used on many Cal Langley productions" (Hollywood and our Armed Forces: working together to brainwash the world), find out where this super-duper-extra-top-secret spaceship is located, and get permission to examine it (insert anal probe joke here), because he strives for reality and accuracy in all things. Especially on his new project, Saturn Skies. Sure, that's bound to work smoothly. Max and Cal both sport head-to-toe Hollywood black; the latter is wearing a thoroughly ridiculous crumply black leather porkpie hat, which should get him beaten up very shortly. Suddenly the expert, Max advises Langley to play it cool, to act like it doesn't really matter if he gets to see the ship. Langley, with good reason, bristles, tells Max to lay off the direction, and asks Max how many Academy Awards he's won, while making it painfully obvious that he knows the answer. Cal, ya see, has won four.
Double doors fly open, and there's General Chambers, resplendent in military finery. He growls and calls Langley an "old dog." Langley races to Chambers, grabs his face with both hands, and plants a kiss on his lips, which, combined with the fey hat and designer glasses (black-framed, this time, to complete the look), marks him for certain death on Air Force property. Chambers cuts Cal's advance off at the pass, with a bemused "you Hollywood boys," and wonders who Max is. He's just some intern, answers Cal, and tells Max -- who gets all huffy (already too big for his expensive new Tinseltown britches) -- to wait outside while he goes to conduct his business.
Michael is sitting at the Crashdown counter when Isabel walks in and plops down to him. Sick of the fact that everyone thinks she's an idiot (perhaps because she is an idiot), she starts grumbling about being "the only second-class citizen here," since no one protested when Michael got together with Maria and since Max can clearly do whatever the hell he pleases. She's tired of having to follow the rules. Michael, clearly excited to be the brunt of Isabel's anger and struggling to see from behind his curtain of hair, informs her that he's not changing his opinion because he thinks this marriage is wrong. "Wrong for who?" asks Isabel. Michael doesn't need to understand; she's crazy about Jesse, and just wants to have a normal life, which seems so outside the realm of possibility that her desire comes across as almost quaint. Michael wonders if Jesse doesn't also deserve a normal life, which probably wouldn't include bedding down with Interplanet Janet, and reminds her that everyone they get close to is at risk (for what? Antarian VD? And just what kind of babies will they have?). Jesse's case is special (and rather tragic), since if and when the trouble starts, he won't have a clue what's happening. Copping to the lameness of her decision to keep her foreign status from Jesse, Isabel manages to look momentarily concerned, but the heart-to-heart is suddenly interrupted by the Wedding Freak, who comes staggering over, all flustered, to say how glad she is that they ran into each other. Getting up to leave, Michael tells Isabel that if she really loved Jesse, she wouldn't be this selfish. He's certainly got a point, but Isabel continues to look put-upon. Girl just can't get a break.
WF installs herself in the chair vacated by Michael and slides a brochure for a new horse-drawn carriage company across the counter to Isabel. WF swoons over the "fantastic gold tassels on its harness," which, if you're a wedding planner in Roswell, is probably just the kind of thing that gets your juices flowing. Me, I'm just sad, and wondering when this disaster of an episode will limp to a close. Isabel says she doesn't like horses, which is the first sensible thing I've heard come out of her mouth. They'll be taking a car to and from the reception. WF pressures Isabel to take the brochure home for Mom, and then opens her big mouth even further to blab about how happy she is that Isabel decided not to take the sudden April availability at Emden Pond. Uh oh. Isabel's dander rises, and she discovers that Eunice put the kibosh on the possibility of getting hitched by the puddle (without, of course, ever mentioning it to the bride-to-be). Ha ha.
Isabel's phone rings, and she dives for it to escape further interaction with WF. Which was probably a big mistake, since Max -- making excellent use of his downtime on the Air Force base -- is on the line. "So you think you're getting married?" he barks. Isabel wonders how he found out, and he tells her about his conversation with the maternal unit; I'm developing a fondness for Eunice since she seems so adept at making Isabel's life worse by the minute. Max goes all big brother on her, telling her she's only known "this guy" for a month. Isabel takes offense that Max referred to her beloved as "this guy," and then says that she's known Jesse for four months. Whatever -- Max doesn't understand the rush. Isabel doesn't want to have this conversation right now, he tells her not to make any more plans until he gets back, and she says she's not a child, to which Max replies, "Yeah, well, you're acting like one." Niiice. Isabel hangs up and looks ready for an aneurysm; WF takes one look at Isabel's expression and makes a hasty retreat.
General Chambers, also on the phone (perhaps drafted to weigh in against Isabel's marriage?), hangs up and tells Cal that he can't help him with the ship; the Pentagon says no. Cal protests that it's no big deal since everyone knows the ship is a hoax, to which Chambers agrees, and explains the decision as an increased level of caution in the wake of Pearl Harbor. This thirst for quality has obviously not extended beyond the silver screen -- or perhaps Roswell has gone renegade with an unauthorized Air Force tie-in. I think it far exceeds last week's overly sanctioned Enterprise crossover, but then that's just me. And furthermore, General C., Cal has won four Academy Awards! Cal tries to confirm that the ship is on the base, but Chambers isn't budging. When the Armed Forces are involved, no means no. Tailhook was an anomaly.
Cal exits the building and gives Max the bad news. Max immediately starts bugging Cal to call someone else, but Cal tells him that there's no chance and that it's time to give up. Max demands that Cal tell him what he knows; Cal says, "The ship is here." Max orders Cal to take him to it.
Eunice is enjoying a quiet moment of folding laundry when Isabel barges in; Eunice pretends that she's happy to see Isabel, who immediately destroys any hope of an intimate mother-daughter moment by confronting her about spilling the wedding beans to Max. Eunice looks slightly taken aback, since weddings are supposed to be celebratory occasions and the participants are generally happy to talk incessantly about nothing else; Isabel continues that it is her news to deliver when and how she sees fit, and then wonders how her mother found Max's number in the first place, and I'm suddenly thinking that it's pretty shitty to hold out on your own mother when she's obviously worried about her son, and that if Max is such a jerk to her, then why would she care enough to maintain a code of silence? But that's just me thinking, which I should not do in the proximity of this show. Eunice says she found the number in Isabel's planner -- gaining no points for ransacking of private property. When Eunice offers to explain, Isabel tells her not to try defending herself, and pulls out the Emden Pond cancellation trump card (inspiring Eunice to become very involved with the shirt she's folding). The pond incident, coupled with the leak to Max (when she knew he would disapprove), spurs Isabel to voice the perception that her mother is acting like she doesn't want this wedding to happen. Um, duh -- where have you been for the last 45 minutes, Isabel? Eunice confirms, saying, "Maybe I don't," and then explains that she was hoping to slow things down a bit so that Isabel would have some time to come to her senses since she's making a mistake. Huh -- good luck on that one. Isabel whines that she loves Jesse, and her mother suggests that she date him and get to know him instead of marrying him. Isabel says she's been a good daughter and has made responsible decisions, and wonders why this would be any different. Eunice points out that it hasn't even been a year since Alex (what's that about?), that she's graduated from high school without a plan for the future, and that her brother is off doing Lord knows what. With all this topsy-turviness, it's only natural, she feels, for Isabel to grab onto the first dimwit that wanders along. Agreed. But not by Isabel, who wonders if her mother's opposition exists because Jesse is Latino. Eunice, aghast at that notion, warns Isabel that "if you rush into this, you're gonna wake up someday, sweetheart, and you are gonna be a bitter, live-at-home, twenty-year-old divorcee." Sounds like that's a plan for the future. Despite her bad hair, Eunice seems to be the obvious soothsayer -- with impressive command of imagery -- in a town full of halfwits. Isabel turns and leaves, graciously ending this heated, dialogue-intensive scene. I'm pooped.
Night. Wet streets. A Hummer, one of the stupidest cars ever created, so we know we're back on the base. Max (lock-busting powers in full effect) and Cal sneak into a building and are suddenly in the room with the spaceship, all big and round and gunmetal gray. Cal tells Max that now that he's shown him the ship, he'll be leaving, and, oh, yeah, he forgot to mention that he needs the key, like he's finally found a way to stump him. No dice, as Max pulls out a big opaque diamond-shaped thing that looks like something Elizabeth Taylor might fancy. Max tells Cal that he has to drive the ship, which Cal really doesn't want to do, since it will force him to give up everything he's worked for. Max remains impervious to protest, since it's all about him and his son, and besides, Cal will never be human. After more back-and-forth, and Max's offhand revelation that he's going to find his son and then return (that should be no problem), Cal resigns himself to his fate. He's got to start the ship and then Max can jump on board; he tries one last time to convince Max to stay, but Max insists that Cal shape-shift and fly the ship. Cal walks over to the ship, holds up the key, now glowing, and a beam of light shoots down as Cal transforms into an ice-blue, elongated alien form (it'd be nice, perhaps, to see something a bit less clichéd) and disappears inside. As the ship lights up, Max walks over to the door and prepares for take-off.
Liz, carrying her care-package hatbox, walks over to the couch where Maria sits (and eats vegetables -- healthy girl!) and joins her. Still peeved over Max's lack of communication, she begins unpacking the box and offering the contents to Maria -- a CD, peanut-butter pretzels, the past three Simpsons episodes on tape, the gourmet cookies she created, and a bad photo. Maria asks, "Are we breaking up?" which provokes the only legitimate chuckle of the episode. Liz says she was totally panicked until she talked to Isabel and discovered that Max had called her that afternoon. Maria puts her arm around Liz (effectively halting the break-up), says she feels her pain, and suggests that, since the only thing she can do in a situation like this is take it out on Michael, they go over and give him some hell. Liz plays the martyr, telling Maria that she's been there through all of Max's pain and wondering again why he can't just pick up the phone. Then Maria, embodying the voice of reason, points out that the phone is a miraculous two-way invention and suggests once again that Liz call her no-good man to give him a piece of her miniscule mind.
As the ship lifts off the ground, lights blazing, Max opens the hangar door. His phone rings -- Liz has finally taken Maria's advice (Max's phone says "Liz calling" but doesn't sport the Nokia brand name, which shocks me), but Max chooses not to answer. The beckoning beam of light shoots down from the ship, and, as Max walks over to board, it suddenly sputters and comes crashing down, narrowly and unfortunately missing Max's swollen head. I'm so loving the fact that all of his work has come to nothing, in a terribly unceremonious way. What an anti-climactic anti-climax. After the ship settles, it spits out Cal, who tumbles into a little unconscious pile on the floor. Max closes the door and runs to help Cal, who mutters about "too much damage from the initial crash."
Back in the Evans kitchen, scene of so much recent familial discord, Isabel walks in to find Eunice, paragon of housewifely duties, unloading the dishwasher. Again, feigned happiness from Eunice; Isabel informs her that a spot has opened up at the wedding pavilion at Summerhaven Park -- Eunice summons avoidance by bitching about her husband's dishwasher loading -- where she and Jesse are getting married. In two weeks. This shocks Eunice out of her task; she looks at Isabel with disbelief, and says, "You're what?" Isabel repeats her vastly accelerated timeline, and Eunice surmises that she's doing this out of anger at her, that they've been playing this little push-pull game for years. No, says Isabel, it's not about Eunice, but she would very much like to have her support on the rapidly-approaching big day, which she believes will be the best thing that ever happened to her. "I'm sorry," says Eunice, "but I can't do that." A knock at the door -- it's Michael, with the aforementioned casserole dish, supremely crusted with gunk. Now that's classy -- he's had this thing for weeks and didn't bother to wash it? Boys will be boys, even if they're really aliens. Isabel stands frozen through an exchange of pleasantries, looking stricken, and then excuses herself with a whisper.
Cal's Mercedes pulls up in front of his mansion, and Max races around to help Cal out of the passenger seat. As he pulls Cal across the driveway and drops him on the ground in front of the door, the beleaguered producer (still wearing his dumb hat) tells Max, "I destroyed my life for you tonight." He says that this is how Max -- "Your Majesty" -- has always been. Selfish and ungrateful. Being Max's protector might have been encoded in his genes, says Cal, but after tonight, he'll never stop hating him. Ouch. Max, instead of bothering with a "thank you," stays true to type and makes it all about him, telling Cal that he did indeed sleep with the enemy and then send his son back, but that he has to suffer by living with the biggest mistake of his life every single day. Oh, boo hoo. Give it a rest, you tiresome bore. At least he's taking responsibility. He tells Cal that he shouldn't have dragged him into this, but he didn't know what else to do. Cal, in a completely unnecessary burst of magnanimity, advises Max to think about the people he almost left behind -- sister, girlfriend, mother (the ladies, the ladies). Max wonders how Cal knows about all of them; he replies, "It's my job," before telling Max never to return. A final word of advice from Cal: "The more you embrace your alien side, the more you're gonna lose." Cal drags himself up the stairs, leaving Max to ponder the incredible level of self-involvement he has displayed for…the past several decades.
Isabel is now out walking in the night air. We can tell she's pissed because she keeps touching the lampposts along the path and blowing out the bulbs at the top; if she can't see what she's doing, then nobody else can, dammit. What a little rebel. Problem is, the night's not getting any darker. Pesky stage lighting. Michael races up on his motorcycle and starts bantering with Isabel, who's clearly in no mood for jollity. Poof! Another light out. He asks what's up with Eunice, and Isabel tells him she's getting married in two weeks and that her own mother wants nothing to do with it. She's all alone in this. Except that she's got a fiancé, who has completely disappeared, leaving her to cope solo, which is a pretty low thing to do. Yet another thing that does not bode well for this couple, but of course Isabel can't see this, since she's doused the lights and all. She tells Michael that Max found out and was unsupportive, which is why she needed Michael to congratulate her. Michael says that Isabel doesn't care what he thinks, because if she did, she wouldn't have had Maria break the news. Busted. Isabel apologizes, promises to keep Jesse safe, and tells Michael that his opinion matters as much as Max's, that she thinks of him as a brother. Apparently mollified, Michael raises his right arm and blows out a light several feet away in a shower of sparks, to show Isabel how a real man does it. She argues for feminine delicacy. Michael confirms that the wedding will happen in two weeks (whoops, no, a little less) and then congratulates Isabel, who rewards him with a big smile and a hug. A little begrudging (and presumably hollow) support goes a long way for her.
As Liz sweeps the floor in her Crashdown uniform, emotive music (complete with throaty male vocals) swells, warning me that Max will soon be back to wallow and beg for forgiveness. And there he is, looking sheepish in green. She asks when he got back, which was just now, and then reminds him that he didn't call. He claims all-night driving to see her prevented him from dialing. He slowly approaches her, says he's sorry, and then starts this weird, robotic, uncomfortable looking arm motion designed to convey emphasis, emotion, and feeling that he must have learned at K-mart acting classes, but which only makes him look like one of those jet-molded plastic dolls whose arms move when you press a button in their back. Liz tells Max that she can't do this -- that she loves him, but that she hasn't really been feeling it back. He keeps apologizing, apparently having taken Cal's advice somewhat to heart, and she keeps resisting. She asks what happened, and he says that he messed everything up, that he failed, that his son is still "up there," and then the sob story breaks down her defenses, and she goes to him, enfolding him in her arms and telling him that it's okay, and he's crying and apologizing and promising never to leave her. Not so for me; I'm thrilled as the credits roll, signaling that it's time for me to claw my way out of the abyss of mediocre programming and return to regular life. Thank you, and goodnight. Thus ends my Roswell odyssey, and none to soon. If you need me, I'll be fleeing as fast as I can in the other direction.