Devoted readers of our forum's "SFU in the media" thread have no doubt noticed that a number of reviewers are claiming that the quality of this show improves substantially around the fourth or fifth episode. And now, lo and behold, it seems they may be right. Certainly, this particular episode was better than what we've seen of late. Or maybe it's just that my expectations have finally been lowered to the point where I can accept that Six Feet Under will never be the Great American TV Show. Hell, it's not even The Greatest American Hero. Sure, it's better than any of the crap the networks will ever churn out, but we were promised "a groundbreaking new show from the creator of American Beauty," and while, yeah, that is a pretty funny pun once you stop to think about it, it doesn't change the fact that the only thing "groundbreaking" about this show is the cemetery's backhoe. Well, that and whatever landscaping equipment they've been using to prune the tangled topiary that is Peter Krause's body hair. But I digress. The point is that, at its core, this show is just another example in a long line of quirky occupational ensembles. Six Feet Under is what happens to guest stars who convict criminals on The Practice, get shot by that same skell on NYPD Blue, and end up dying in the ER, presumably because Luka was their surgeon. On the other hand, the show is still indisputably better than, say, Dawson's Creek, and I think we can all take solace in the fact that while Michael C. Hall may be no Goran Visnjic, he's also certainly no Kerr Smith. So really, life is good. Right?
Which I guess makes this a good time to get straight to the dying. In case any of you are in the midst of making travel preparations to visit Alan Ball World, here's a quick tip: Leave your loved ones behind. Nothing signifies your imminent demise quite so much as the presence of a loving companion. This week's Dead Guy Du Jour is a tiny little gangbanger with a big, big name: Manuel Pedro "Paco" Antonio Bolin. He and his Affectionate-In-The-Face-Of-Obvious-Impending-Doom girlfriend are sitting in a broken-down car in a very bad neighborhood. After trying in vain to get the vehicle moving again, Paco casually drops a couple of shout-outs to both myScreamrecap and my car's own balky electrical system. Then he jumps out and runs over to a nearby pay phone. After getting his friend's answering machine on the first try, he hangs up and dials again. That'll be important later. This time the friend answers, but before he can say a word, Paco turns around to find three thugs and a very large gun pointed at his head. Well, actually only the gun was pointed at his head, but you probably got the idea. "Where you from?" asks Thug #1, and Paco responds with a defiant, if not very intelligent, "Your momma's pussy, bitch." Thug #1 promptly dispatches him with three shots to the chest, leaving the now Tragically-Heartbroken-In-The-Face-Of-Being-An-Obvious-Sentimental-Ploy girlfriend wailing in the car. Incidentally, the Ironic Musical Detachment Fairy seems to be at a loss for lyrics for the second straight week. ["What can I say? I miss Napster." -- The Ironic Musical Detachment Fairy]. In any case, the Ironically White Title Card Of Death goes to great lengths to place Paco just nine days shy of his twenty-first birthday. As we'll discover, that's not really important at all.
Okay, so there's something you need to know at this point. As I type these very words, it's currently 4:08 pm on Saturday. Now, I have to be up at 6:00 tomorrow to spend the entire day shooting a training video for my employer. Since my boss, his boss, and his boss's boss will be there, I'd prefer to not show up half-drunk and looking like I only slept for two hours. Unfortunately, that's usually exactly how I am the morning after a recap. You know, as opposed to the sober, yet pleasantly cheerful, demeanor I maintain most other mornings. In any case, we're gonna try a little speed-recapping today. The goal is to be finished by midnight. Personally, I don’t think I've got a prayer. But, as is my wont, I'll just reply to that with a defiant, if not very relevant, "Your momma's pussy, bitch," and get on with the recap.
Fade up on Nate being interrogated by a pair of detectives about last week's mysterious house fire. They inquire as to his activities at the "crime scene," and for some reason I'm overcome with a tingling sense that something here just isn't quite right. It's almost as though something incredibly important and powerful was missing from the scene. Something big. And scraggly. Hey, wait a sec! Peter Krause has shaved! Damn it! That body-hair stuff was my bread and butter. What the hell am I gonna make fun of him for now? Oh wait, the oral sex. Never mind. Anyway, we start cutting back and forth between Brenda and Nate, answering the same questions with the same detectives. Brenda shamelessly admits that they "fucked," whereas Nate will cop only to "making love." We're also informed that Nate possesses a particular talent for performing the aforementioned oral. Must be all the tongue exercise he got doing the Sorkin-style dialogue over on Sports Night. Brenda gets dismissed after offering up a few more sordid tidbits, and also basically leaving Nate to twist in the wind. Which he does, as the police proceed to ask about his connection to Kroehner and the "greedy Nazi fuck." Nate decides to ask if he needs a lawyer, but the police tell him he's free to go. Of course, before he does, they do drop the hint that Claire could be responsible, and Nate sorta looks as though he might agree.
And now it's time for one of this week's reader-submitted nicknames, as Perdita's Old McFisher's "Bought The" Farm transitions seamlessly into sorkinhead's Formaldehyde Fortress. Incidentally, keep those nicknames coming. Your challenge for this week is Ruth. After all, why should I be the one doing all the work around here? I mean, I'm the one on a deadline. Besides, I write the recaps, moderate the forums, provide untold hours of captivatingly witty free entertainment, and what have you people ever done for me? And it's not like we get paid all that much. Six grand a week don't buy what it used to. Unless you live near Canada, of course. Oh, come on! I'm just kidding, people. Not about Canada, though. Anyway, you know I'm not doing this for the money or the fame, and I think we've already established that it's not helping with the ladies. I do it just for you, and if I could, I'd give away all the cash and all the autograph hounds just to bring one more smile to your boring, crappy workday. Well, everything but the bonus plan, that is. And some of the groupies are kinda cute. Anyway, this isn't helping the whole speedy-recap concept, so I'll just move on. Formaldehyde Fortress. Right.
So David is whining that, despite having passed the health department inspection they made such a big deal out of last week, the ventilation system has broken down anyway. You'd think a fortress would have stronger duct-work, but I guess not. David and Mom chat for a bit about air-conditioning and its general lack of availability in most developing nations, and then Nate comes home and tells them he's a suspect in the arson case. He also mentions that Claire is a suspect as well, and only Ruth seems even mildly shocked by that news. Hmm. I wonder if we're supposed to think Claire did it? The air-conditioning repair guy informs them that it will take five days and $3,700 to get everything fixed, which leads to more exposition about the tenuous state of Fisher & Sons finances. Finally, the doorbell rings, and David and Nate rush off to their "ten o'clock." In addition to being clean-shaven, by the way, Nate has also put on a dark suit, and he makes a particular point of straightening his tie as he walks past the camera. Yeah. I. Do. Get it, by the way. Once her boys are gone, Ruth stares down the repair guy and demands he be finished in three days instead of five. He looks scared. He should be.
Sitting Room Of Coffin Selection. You know, I wouldn't mind a better nickname for that one, either. Oh, and while we're at it, who knows the French word for "week"? Heh. I bet you didn't know there was going to be homework when you started reading this, did you? Paco's parents are there to arrange for his funeral, and the writers take a stab at making the whole "almost his twenty-first birthday" thing important by contrasting the bed they were going to buy him with the coffin they're purchasing now. Get it? Because death is like permanently going to sleep? Have they made that allusion yet on this show? I'm not sure. And who gets a bed from their parents on their twenty-first birthday? Or any birthday, really. That seems sort of creepy. David makes the mistake of calling their son "Paco," which we then learn was actually his gang name. Since there's no way in hell I'll ever finish before midnight if I have to type Manuel Pedro Antonio Bolin every time, I'm gonna stick with Paco. Also, I'm hoping to work in a Mrs. Pac(o)-Man joke at some point. At this point, however, Paco's gang leader, Powerful, pipes up to say that Paco was assassinated, and that he should have a "fat-ass" funeral. I think "Powerful" is a fat-ass nickname. In fact, I want everybody to start calling me that from now on. I'll edit your posts if you don't. Nate acts all sympathetic (because, remember, he's got a gift for this), but David looks panicked at the prospect of hosting a gang funeral. He stumbles through a cheesy line about the Bolins being unable to pay, so Powerful jumps up and hands him a wad of cash. "Now can y'all do it up right," he says, "or should we just move on?" David stammers some more, then excuses himself, leaving Nate to lead them through their selection of a floral arrangement. Peter Krause cracks me up by looking bewildered and saying, "Uhh, lilies are nice."
Okay, so now we're twelve minutes in, and it's only 5:14. Things are looking good. I've even got another reader nickname here, this one courtesy of road-runner and enjoying near unanimous support in the forums. Yep, that's right. David heads downstairs to the basement -- or, as it will now be known, Rico's Body Shop. I'll save the "no repeat customers" joke for later. There is, however, some bad news. See, this paragraph was originally supposed to contain a lengthy interlude revolving around Federico getting involved in wacky hijinks while attempting to embalm the corpse of Superman. Given the time constraints, and seeing as how it was based solely on a tenuous and entirely unfunny connection to The Formaldehyde Fortress Of Solitude, I decided to bag the whole idea. You're disappointed, I know. Rico, however, doesn’t have time to be disappointed, because he's busy airbrushing a corpse. And here's where I have another confession to make. As has been previously mentioned, we here at Aaron's Alliteration Abode have gone TiVo -- and while there's no doubt that TiVo is the electronic equivalent of a giant ice-cream sundae with whipped cream, chocolate sauce, naked women, and hundred-dollar bills on top, my one and only complaint is that the timer doesn't list the seconds, thus leaving me unfortunately unable to give you an accurate StC score. I can't turn in a recap without a grade, however, as Sars and I clearly have some serious George Steinbrenner/Billy Martin-type issues going on, and she'd no doubt be yet again forced to fire my lazy, grade-less ass. With that in mind, I'll bite the bullet and recalibrate the StC formulas to overcome the inherent lack of precision in counting only minutes, thereby issuing this week's StC of twelve a straight B. It's now 5:31, by the way.
David tells Rico that he needs help with a tough case upstairs. Rico runs down the list of Alan Ball's writer-submitted nicknames for bad ways to die by asking if it's "decomp" or a "crispy critter." It's neither, actually, as David admits that what he really needs is help putting together a "traditional Mexican funeral." "Okay, what's a traditional Mexican funeral?" replies Rico, as he continues his work on the corpse. David begins the contortions required to place both feet firmly in his mouth when he mentions that he'd like Rico to help by talking to Powerful. Federico is obviously indignant at the implied ethnic insult, and asks, "Why, because I'm Latino, I know about gangs?" David gets a taste of toe by replying, "Well you probably know more than me," while gesturing at the evident whiteness of his skin. Federico proceeds to tell him off with the revelation that he's Puerto Rican, not Mexican, and then adds a whole bunch of geography stuff that I won't bore you with here. Finally, David goes full-on Gabriel and says, "Well, I just thought that maybe someone in your family…" before trailing off into silence. Federico turns his back and keeps working, and we get yet another wandering focus shot of David looking contrite behind him. Finally, he steps forward and confesses that they "can’t afford to lose this funeral, and [he's] afraid that if [he and Nate] are the point of contact, [they] will." There were way too many brackets in that last sentence.
Cut back upstairs, to Federico helping the Bolins pick out a coffin. They choose one that's "nicer than [their] car," but Powerful thinks it isn't good enough. Federico tries to ignore him, but Powerful interrupts to ask, "Where you from?" Get it? Just like the guys that killed Paco? I knew you did. Federico excuses himself and gestures for Powerful to follow him into the room. "Where am I from?" he asks once inside, and basically gives Powerful a little lecture about how he's the only one who's willing to help bury their friend. Powerful sizes him up for a moment, then smiles and walks out without saying a word. He returns to the Bolins, and tells them to pick whatever they want. Rico, having overcome both implied prejudice and the implied threat of violence to save the sale, smiles broadly at his bosses.
So of course the Ironic Segue Fairy cuts us straight to David at the kitchen table, complaining that he still doesn't like the idea of hosting gang funerals. Nate has faith in Federico, however, saying, "David, we are sooo white. If we step in we'll fuck everything up." Mom continues her running gag about admonishing their language, but it doesn't seem to be doing any good. Man, she's such a fucking moron. After Mom briefly exposits that Brenda is coming to dinner, the topic switches to Claire. David thinks that Claire wouldn't have started the fire to help them, because she hates the whole family. Nate sits down beside him and whispers that their sister was on crystal-meth the night The Late Nate died. "Oh, my God!" answers David. "Isn't that a horse-tranquilizer?" Heh. Mom spoils the fun by telling them to go to another room if they want to talk without her hearing them. She snarks a bit more about Brenda's visit, and David offers to pick up some Chardonnay for dinner while he's out running some errands. Apropos only of the fact that the writers want to show David hiding his sexuality, Mom starts interrogating him about precisely what errands those might be. This gets interrupted by the arrival of Claire, however, who walks in and relates the story of a kid in school who got busted for bringing in a taser. The rest of family just stares at her accusingly while I wonder how, if six cops showed up to bust a kid with a glorified garage door opener, Claire didn't even get suspended for bringing in dismembered human remains. I mean, even the police have a record of it, so it's not like Keith was able to make it go completely away.
Speaking of Keith, we cut to him exiting a grocery store with David, acting all concerned over the prospect of Fisher & Sons becoming the choice funeral parlor of the young urban criminal set. David puts the situation thusly: "We needed a body, they needed a home. It's a win-win situation." As they load the bags into Keith's SUV, he tells David to get Claire a lawyer for the arson investigation. While they pack, some hick guy pulls up behind them and asks if they'll be pulling out. He snots at them to hurry up, which only makes Keith slow down, and finally the guy puts down his banjo and drives off in disgust, muttering "fucking fags" as he goes. Keith instantly gets a hard look on his face, and chases after the guy's truck. David runs along behind him, trying to calm the situation. Keith catches up to the guy, rips open the door, and grabs Redneck Boy's t-shirt, daring him all the while to repeat his insult. David tries to pull him away, and Keith shoves him off with an elbow that looked a lot more violent in the previews than it did here. Finally, Keith jams his badge into Redneck Boy's forehead and dares him to file a complaint. Cletus The Slack-Jawed Homophobe beats a hasty retreat, leaving David to try to rationalize the situation with "I don't think he really meant anything by it," to which a still angry Keith snarls, "Do you really hate yourself that much?"
Rico's Body Shop. Only at the moment, it's actually David's Ye Olde Body Shoppe. I wanted to use a hip, squiggly (tm djb) Olde English font for that to further ironically indicate David's ostensible whiteness, but I'm told it crashed everyone's browsers in testing. So you'll just have to close your eyes and pretend. Don't forget to open them, though, or you'll have a hard time reading the rest of the recap. David goes about stitching up Paco's autopsy incisions, and to absolutely no one's surprise, Paco opens his eyes and starts up a conversation. He teases David about his job choice, and asks if he's ever seen sunlight. David laughs it off and continues swabbing the body, at one point reaching under a strategically placed cloth to clean what I'll just refer to as Little Lord Pac-Man. Paco accuses David of checking out his joystick, and I giggle madly as David blushes. Hee. I love Paco. Warren had potential, but Paco is definitely the best DGDJ so far. He's fat-ass.
Speaking of ass (be it fat, thin, or bearing a "Nathaniel" tattoo), Brenda has arrived at the Formaldehyde Fortress for dinner. She hands Nate another bottle of expensive liquor lifted from her parents, and he looks freaked and tells her she's an hour early. She walks around the funeral-home portion of the Fortress, commenting that "the kitsch factor is substantial," although I suppose it's possible she's referring to her black floral dress and bright pink scarf. She makes a crack about having found the explanation for his well-developed sense of irony, and if I hit the mute button, I'll probably be able to hear the IMD Fairy warbling in the room. He just won't leave, people. He keeps wandering around the house, bitching about Lars Ulrich and singing a tuneless, off-key eighties medley of "Burning Down The House," "Another One Bites The Dust," and "Take This Job And Shove It." Which is why I'm thankful that Ruth chooses this particular moment to come downstairs to find the lovebirds. She greets Brenda warmly, and they exchange a bit of small talk before Mom returns to her cooking. As soon as she's gone, Brenda sighs, "She hates me." Then she starts macking on a reluctant Nate before wondering, "What's the matter? Afraid Mommy might see?" Nate backs away and asks her to not "turn tonight into Psych 101. Because trust me, we'll never make it through the evening." Amen, brother. And while we're on the subject of making it through the evening, I'll just mention that it's now 8:25. That "quick little dinner break" unfortunately turned out to be not that quick at all.
At Ye Olde Body Shoppe, Paco is working on his own stitches and giving David some relationship advice. Despite the fact that he refers to Keith as "David's bone-daddy," instead of the already canonized "Big Black Sex Cop," his advice is actually pretty good. He calls Keith a "rage-aholic," but when David says he doesn't understand why Keith got upset about being called a fag, Paco points out that David got called a fag too, but did nothing about it. As he goes on to quote a Bible passage that proves his point, he's suddenly dressed in his funeral suit. David immediately identifies the chapter and verse, and Paco begs to buried naked instead.
And speaking of naked, Brenda is upstairs with Nate, still cracking on the décor. She professes disinterest in hearing about his bad day, but when he looks wounded, she grabs a seat and asks him to come sit beside her and unload his burdens. As he walks over, I notice for the first time just how right Daniel was. That guy's head is a perfect rectangle. It's like looking at a brick with hair. Nate's litany of woes includes the facts that he's scared about being an undertaker, there's a giant corporation trying to put them out of business, and his sister is potentially a crack-headed arsonist. Dude, it was crystal, not crack. We've been over this. Brenda psychobabbles about there being a lot of sadness in the house and Nate's gift for channeling other people's pain and blah blah I-don't-care-anymore-cakes. Let's get to the money shot, dammit. And here it is. Hearing a noise, Ruth opens the door to find her son down on his knees, disrespecting Brenda's Bing. You should feel free to close your eyes here, and mentally substitute "From way downtown, bang," "Cunnilingus and psychiatry have brought us to this," or any other vaguely risqué Sopranos or Sportscenter catchphrase you might like. Despite it being not TV, but HBO, the whole thing is shot tastefully from behind. Or at least as tastefully as possible for a shot of guy between a girl's thighs. Ruth suddenly remembers that aloha also means goodbye, and runs off screaming. Nate just lies on the floor, moaning, "Oh, god. Oh, god" over and over again as he calculates the number of hours he'll have to spend in therapy. Brenda remains her usual blasé self as she opines that dinner is apparently served.
Monica Lewinsky: A funeral home, huh? And here I thought the Mural Room was kinky.
Alan Ball: Oh god, not again. I don’t have time for this, you know.
Monica Lewinsky: I can't believe they did it with the mom in the room. At least Bill always had the decency to send Hillary off to a book signing or something.
Alan Ball: Yeah. Okay. Do you know where I can buy a good deadbolt?
Monica Lewinsky: Hey, do you think Sorkin is planning to recast Mandy? Because I'd be perfect for that show. Remember when they couldn't figure out how they changed the bird on the rug? Well, who knows more about the Oval Office carpet than I do?
Alan Ball: Get out. Immediately.
Monica Lewinsky: All right, all right. Just give him my résumé, okay?
Alan Ball: Yeah, I guess. Besides, that's a good picture. I like the beret. But you do know this isn't what they meant by "head" shots, right?
Cut to the dinner table, where Claire giggles and asks Brenda if she "flashed her crotch like Sharon Stone" while being interrogated by the police. "Was it fun?" she continues. "I bet it was fun." Ruth joins them, and despite it usually being David's job, she promptly asks Nate to say grace. He spews through it in about six words and two seconds (and would that I could be so fast), and then everyone makes awkward small talk for a while. David brings up that he's put together a business plan with Nate, and he'd like Mom to take a look at it. She's not interested, however, and Nate gets up to go into the kitchen. Left alone at the table, Brenda is forced to explain her job and the myriad differences between shiatsu and acupuncture. The culmination of all this is Ruth evincing surprise at the fact that Brenda "sticks her thumbs in people" for a living. Brenda says she doesn't, "at least not as part of [her] job." Yeah, that's an appropriate response, given what we've just witnessed. Of course, I'm not sure there really is an appropriate response after what we've just witnessed, but I do know that jokes about sticking your thumbs into people for pleasure ain't it. Just don't ask me how I know. Further awkwardness ensues as Nate returns to the table, and Ruth tells Brenda that she simply must stay for dessert. "It's peach cobbler," gushes David in a way that somehow makes "peach cobbler" into a euphemism for oral sex. Heh. I wanna be like Mike.
Okay. 10:33. Twenty-six minutes to go. Things are looking grim. For Paco as well, as he and David examine his corpse in its coffin. Paco requests a night-light because he's afraid of the dark, and David teases him that if that were the case, he shouldn't have gotten himself shot. Mom walks in to inform them that "Mr. Powerful and his entourage are upstairs." She also asks who David was talking to, and he claims it was himself. Mom then asks why he never attends church with her anymore. He tells her he's been going to a different church with a friend. "Who? That cop? The black man?" she asks. Paco exhorts David not to be a pussy, so he replies, "Yes Mom, the cop. That black man. That Big Black Sex Man." See if you can guess which part of that last quote I made up. Ruth shakes her head a few times and then leaves.
Upstairs, the funeral is getting underway. Nate, who's even added a boutonniere to his new clean-cut ensemble, is passing out programs while gang members chat and the family cries. The Tearful-Yet-Already-With-Another-Guy girlfriend stands beside the coffin and pins an earring to Paco's lapel. The Ghost Of Paco stands at attention, David right beside him. He stares down the new guy as they leave, and then bitches about the mariachi music. David calls over Rico, who suggests the "Ave Maria," then runs off to make the change. As the new song starts, Claire wanders in and catches the eye of a particularly bald gang member. Meanwhile, Paco's mother cries and tries her hand at casket-climbing. The rest of the family gathers around her, and in the background we (as well as Nate) see Claire leave with the Bald Guy.
Claire's Bitch, Body & Beyond Shoppe. She's down in the basement with her new buddy, who thinks the place looks like "a mad scientist lab." He doesn't get a name, by the way, but since he turns out to be a lot better than you'd expect him to be, and also because I share common affinity with every poor soul suffering from the unconscionable evil of male-pattern baldness, I'm just going to call him Cool Guy. Claire sparks up a dutchie and makes a Turkish prison joke that's nowhere near as funny as the industry-standard one in Airplane!. She asks Cool Guy if he's ever killed anyone, to which he replies that he has shot at a few people, but doesn't know if he killed them. Claire flirts by telling him that everyone thinks she burned down the house, and then offering to take Cool Guy up on his offer to come down to the 'hood and fire his gun. Despite how it may sound, "fire his gun" was not a euphemism for oral sex. "You're some kind of tough little bitch, huh?" he asks her. Claire tries to take the joint from him, but he grabs her hand and squeezes. "You didn't hear your road-dog calling for help on your machine," he says, staring straight into her eyes. "You ain't going to spend the rest of your goddamn life wondering why you didn't pick up the phone the first fucking time it rang." See, I told you that would be important. He finishes with, "You don't know shit, little girl," before tossing the joint and walking out. Claire clutches her wrist and looks like she just got hit by a truck.
Back upstairs, one of Paco's gang-mates is showing David his tattoos, including one that runs right across the six-pack on his stomach. David admires the view for a moment until he catches Paco shaking his head. At this point, The Annoying Girl from the pilot episode (whom Wing was kind enough to identify, but whom I still don't care enough about to go back and see who she was again) shows up. She claims to have read about Paco's death in the LA Times, and "just had to pay [her] respects. It's heartbreaking," she whines. "The riots, I mean 'the uprising,' was supposed to increase the peace, but all we have are more dead children." If you look closely, you can see Alan Ball behind her, being all, "Ooh! Look at me! Isn't that clever? Aren't I insightful? The episode is all about prejudice, so I made the characters into stereotypes. Get it? See, the gay people are all oppressed, the Latinos are all noble and wise, and the white people are just stupid! Isn't that the most trenchant social commentary you've ever heard? Hey, look, there's Malcolm X! Ha ha, made you look. Anyway, you guys can just put the Nobel Peace Prize over on the mantel." When David learns that Annoying Girl didn't know the deceased, he quickly hustles her out the door. She flirts a bit on the way out, making us all think it's David she's after, but once the door closes, she opens the paper to the obituaries section and selects another funeral. Uh, okay. Whatever.
Cut to the crying room, where Mrs. Bolin is, well, crying. Nate and his mutton-chop wanna-be sideburns try to console her. He mentions that his father died on Christmas Eve, and that no matter what happens, Dad will always be a part of him. Just not a part of the regular cast. Back at the funeral, Paco is telling David that he has to apologize to Keith, "otherwise [he's] just a born bitch." Paco's got the hands-clasped-in-front thing down pat, just like David. "You speak that way at your own funeral?" asks David, and Paco tells him that he'll speak any way he damn well pleases. "I've been to a ton of funerals," he continues. "You've seen one, you've seen them all. Even mine." "No gunfire, no fights?" asks David. "Nah. No Sharks, no Jets. Just like any other funeral. You let down?" David admits that he is.
In the foyer, Ruth "Ex Machina" Fisher comes downstairs and tells Nate that the police have filed the house fire under "cause unknown." Which means Claire isn't in trouble anymore. I wonder why they keep making big deals out of plot points one week, and then dropping the storyline like a burning building the . I mean, didn't they have some extra time to write these scripts? David Chase gets a whole year, you know. Nate still thinks Claire might have been the arsonist. He also tries to apologize to Mom for the Bing thing, but Claire walks in before he can finish. She snarks at them, then stalks off upstairs in search of an Altoid. Mmm, Altoids. They're curiously strong. And now it's time for the Non-Ironic, Yet Still Incredibly Annoying Fade To White. Or, if you're reading this five years from now after watching in syndication, it's time for a commercial. If they still have commercials in five years, that is. Viva la TiVo, baby!
Fade up on Keith at church, with David sitting alone a few rows back. The (female) minister gives a not-at-all (yeah, right) sub-textually relevant sermon about Adam and Eve and the serpent. It's worth noting that there's a gay-pride flag on the altar, and while many in the forums have speculated that Keith and David attend the Metropolitan Community Church, the sign out front simply reads, "St. Stephen's." Not being Christian, I have no idea whether that's important or not. I will, however, say that the casting director has done an excellent job of picking extras who look like they could be gay without being too obvious about it. Anyway, as they exit after the service, David asks Keith if he's ever planning to apologize for "revealing [his] dormant psycho side, and scaring the crap out of [David]." Keith won't say he's sorry, though, and David shouts after him, "Do you really think I hate myself?" Keith stops and lays it all out: "I know where you are. I was there. And I'll wait for you, because I love you. But I'm not moving backwards for anybody." And yeah, while I do think he went a little too far in beating on Cletus The Slack-Jawed Homophobe back there, he's definitely got a good point here. David asks him to just be patient, and also calmer. Keith details all the various insults and bigotry he deals with every day as a gay cop, and then adds, "We got stepped on yesterday, and I did something about it, because I'm tired of it. When you get tired of it, you let me know."
Brenda's Boudoir. Which, I'm sure, has had many repeat customers. That may even explain why Brenda apparently refuses to sleep in her own bed. Anyway, it's the morning after, and she's wondering if she should make a peace offering to Nate's mother. When he tells her it'll just make things worse, she unleashes another torrent of psychoanalysis, something about burying feelings or some such. Have I mentioned that TiVo has great fast-forward capabilities? Nate replies that it's better than "examining every fucking moment until all the joy is drained out of it." Yeah. Welcome to my world, buddy. And while you're at it, get your hands out from under the sheet where I can see them. There's some awkward silence at this point, and then Nate invites her to join him on the bed. "Sex does not solve everything," she tells him, and while it's true that it may not be all that helpful with, say, the Pythagorean theorem, it can and does solve most other problems. Viva la sex, baby!
Formaldehyde Fortress. Only it's time for yet another confession. As those of you who subscribe to the mailing list no doubt already know, I didn't make my midnight deadline. The preceding paragraph was written at 1:30 last night, and I'm picking up now on Sunday afternoon. I'm a bad, bad recapper, and I hate myself right now. Okay, not really. I'm just disappointed. You know. Anyway, I'm rapidly reaching the point where Sars stops thinking about firing me and starts considering ways to have me summarily executed, so I'll just move on. I will, however, say this to those who haven't signed up for the mailing list yet: what the hell are you waiting for? Things like this are just one of the many perks of membership. Plus, just wait until you see the free gift you get for signing up. [Legal note: There is no free gift for signing up.] Anyway, Nate comes in and finds Claire watching The Partridge Family, presumably as an ironic commentary on the Fisher's dysfunctionality. Except there's nothing really functional about Danny Bonaduce. Susan Dey, on the other hand, was the TiVo of her day. Anyway, Nate asks Claire if she's all right. Her response: "My pimp is threatening to beat me up because I can't turn enough tricks, and what's worse is he's threatening to take away my smack. It's hell." Nate wants to know why she always has to be such a bitch. "Why do you always have to assume I'm in trouble?" she retorts. "Like you guys are such shining examples." Damn, even with the meager four lines she got this week, Lauren Ambrose is still the best thing about this show. Marry me, Lauren. Or don't, considering how much trouble my last wedding reference got me into.
Later, David and Nate are presenting their business plan to Mom. Basically, they plan to compete by providing their customers with the "human touch." Then again, I've seen Nate's idea of a "human touch," and while offering free blowjobs probably would ensure a substantial clientele, I'm not really sure it's an appropriate marketing gimmick for a funeral home. It's more like something Salon would try. The boys want to modernize the operation, install computers, and start advertising. They also want to borrow $93,000 from Mom (via Dad's life insurance) to finance the whole thing. She thinks for a minute, and then decides to officially become an investor in Fisher & Sons. They boys are shocked that she caved so quickly, but Mom just says, "I can invest in either my boys or tech stocks. Anything is better than the track." As she leaves the room, she asks David to join her at church every now and then, because she doesn't want to go alone now that the Late Nate is, well, late. Once she's gone, Nate says, "Well, that was weird," and David says it gets even weirder: Gilardi wants to meet.
David's room. Since we've never even seen it before now, I won't make you come up with a nickname. Yet. He's psyching himself up in the mirror to talk to Gilardi, and he asks Paco for advice. Paco demonstrates how he would respond if someone tried to mess with his own business, and said response basically includes grabbing Gilardi by the throat, slamming him down on a chair, and telling him, "I'll cut your fucking stomach and watch your guts spill out." It certainly has the desired effect on David, who looks scared out of his mind. "You gotta step up," says Paco, but David points out that "stepping up" landed Paco in the morgue. "That's right," he answers. "Twenty years I lived my life like a man. When are you gonna start?" When, indeed?
Okay, how about now? David, Nate, and Gilardi are in a restaurant. Nate peruses a new document which indicates that Kroehner has lowered their offer. The boys still won't sell, however, and Gilardi says that if they don't accept the offer by the end of the day, he'll "make it [his] personal mission to bury [them] by the end of the month." Cut to David, looking steely. He leans forward and starts in on Gilardi: "You have the entire Kroehner organization behind you, and what do we have? You. Because someday, when your mind isn’t on Fisher & Sons, I will find you or someone you love." Gilardi laughs. David ignores him and continues, "I'm not saying anyone is going to die. There are tragedies far worse than death. Things you couldn't even dream of, you spineless, candy-ass corporate fuck." I prefer Greedy Little Nazi Fuck better, but whatever. Go David! Gilardi isn’t laughing anymore. "It's your decision," David tells him. "Are we really worth the trouble? Now lunch is over. Get lost." I prefer, "Get out. Now," but whatever. When Gilardi doesn't move, Nate chimes in with his sole contribution to the meeting: "Are you deaf?" Finally The Kroehner Kreep leaves, and David confesses that he's about to throw up.
Also, here's another cut due to time constraints: I was planning to compose an Ode To David's Self-Esteem here, but now I can't. Oh, all right. It's actually not so much due to time constraints as just my not knowing what an ode is. I mean, are there rules for an ode? Does it rhyme? Is it in iambic pentameter? Who knows? So instead, you get what I personally consider to be the ultimate form of rigidly defined poetic expression: the limerick.
Once when the Greedy Nazi tried to tamper
David almost made him wet his Pampers
He threatened him with a fate
Worse than that of Late Nate
This would have been better had it been written by Camper
On the other hand, to make up for all these cuts, I've included some special bonus content this week. And let me tell ya, it's FAQalicious!
Back to the Formaldehyde Fortress. Ruth opens the door to find Brenda, who offers her a gift of "fancy bath stuff" from Claire's Bitch, Body & Beyond. "I'm afraid you might not have seen me in my best light last night," she says, and after filming all day, I get sidetracked wondering just what the best way to light that scene would have been. I've never done porn before. You're shocked. I know. Ruth answers that she "saw more of [her] than [she] cared too." Heh. Brenda tries to explain her relationship with Nate, and says she thinks things could work out for the two of them. She apologizes again, and turns to leave. "Be careful with him," Ruth sighs. "He's a lot more fragile than he'd like to think." "Aren't we all," replies Brenda as she walks away. She also gives a little head bob there at the end to still make us think that maybe she knew The Late Nate and was flustered talking to his wife. Looks like Alan Ball is keeping his options open.
Inside, Powerful asks Rico to gather the Fishers together in the main room. They all come in, and Mrs. Bolin invites them to join a prayer circle. Powerful asks God to bring rest and peace to Paco (who is standing in the circle as well). He also makes sure to use Paco's full name for the sake of his mother, and then what was a nice, touching scene goes completely off the rails as Powerful starts crying and thanking the Fishers for overcoming their own grief to help out. Yeah, whatever. Like this guy would give two craps about the people who embalmed his friend. Anyway, the gang members all carry the casket out while David and Paco watch, hand in hand. "Jesus, you're just a kid," says David, but Paco reminds him that he is too. And as the casket is carried away, Manuel Pedro "Paco" Antonio Bolin gives his final piece of advice: "Don't be a bitch." Fade to white, and RIP Paco. You were fat-ass.
Fade back up on bowling and tidy plot resolution. David is kicking Keith's ass, primarily because he was a bowling champ back in high school. Why don't I have a hard time believing that? Two guys come up behind them, and ask if they're together. "Yes. Yes we are," answers Meta David, and suddenly all is right in the world. So of course, we cut to Brenda's house. Nate enters and hears Brenda holed up in the back bedroom. There's some pizza-boy role-play as Nate starts unbuttoning his shirt before he even gets back there. Once inside, he finds her draped on the bed, with about a hundred candles burning around the room. Uh, gee, wonder what that symbolizes. As he undresses and climbs onto the bed, Nate tells her that "Mom said to say that the lavender bath scrub was delicious." These two have some seriously warped ideas about foreplay. Nate asks about the candles, and Brenda tells him that she's "burning up. Burning up for [his] love." They kiss, but Nate suddenly gets a flash of the house fire, followed by another of Brenda being willing to "do so much more" for the Nathaniel on her ass. Despite his concerns, however, he doesn't have any problem with continuing the sex. See, it does solve some things.
Formaldehyde Fortress. Ruth wanders about alone, and then Claire comes home. "May I ask you something?" says Mom. "And you'll promise to tell the truth?" Claire isn't sure if she wants to play this game, but when Mom asks if she lit the fire or not, Claire denies it nicely, even admitting that she "may have swiped the foot." As they share a tender mother-daughter moment (or is that tonight's episode?), we fade to white. Again. The end. Finally.
But before we go, straight from the home office in San Juan, Puerto Rico, here's today's top twelve:
The Top Twelve Signs Your Date Is A Freak12. You met on the plane and had sex at the airport. This, however, is not necessarily a bad thing.
11. Has the name "Nathaniel" tattooed on their ass. This is bad whether your name actually is Nathaniel or not.
10. Wanders around the house, bitching about Backdraft and singing a tuneless, off-key nineties medley of "Firestarter," "Living La Vida Loca," and "Oops, I Did It Again."
9. They've posted in Off-Topic Blather's porno thread but remain conspicuously absent from the "Your First Time" thread.
8. Two candles = romantic. Ten candles = a nice light to read by. Two hundred candles = a freak who collects matchbooks.
7. They consider funerals to be foreplay.
6. They consider kerosene to be a sex aid.
5. They compose bizarre marital fantasies and publish them on the internet.
4. They wear a severed foot around their neck and tell you they're "head over heels for you, baby."
3. They've had contact of any kind with a severed foot.
2. You just can't shake the nagging suspicion that they're a psychotic, possibly incestuous arsonist with a penchant for psychobabble and self-destructive behavior. You've gotta trust me on this one. I've been there.
1. Neck hair. 'Nuf said.
I'll be back with the recaplet in a wee bit. See you then.