And so, in a twist nicked from The Usual Suspects – the faxing of a criminal’s picture – we finally discovered the identity of the murderer. But unlike The Usual Suspects, the ditsy secretary was so excited to see Jason Stackhouse, brought in on suspicion of killing Amy, that she lost the fax in a pile of random papers. I will reveal the murderer shortly, so if, like my friend Gary when we first saw The Usual Suspects, you drifted off and missed the crucial denouement, don’t read on.
This week, the announcer added ‘strong violence’ to the warning about strong language and strong sexual scenes. What’ll it be next time, strong tea-making? I can’t wait.
Amy made Jason vomit with her self-righteous eco-speak (though I guess clearing up Eddie’s entrails didn’t help), and I thought he might ditch her at last. During the commercial break, I stuck pins in my Amy voodoo doll. Then, while she and Jase tripped the light fantastic on V, the murderer slunk in and put us all out of our misery. Oh dear. I do feel a bit responsible for her death; like Nancy Banks-Smith worrying she might have killed Mark Hebden (The Archers) because she found him so boring.
And yet. I despised Amy, I think Jason’s a daft banana, but I was genuinely moved when she died during their shared trip, floating away from Jason’s outstretched arms, up into the sky, forever out of his reach. It was rather a beautiful image and, for a moment, wished she hadn’t been strangled. Then I remembered her banging on about her low carbon footprint, and took it back. Poor old Jason, though. He did love her, in his own funny way, and as she’s his third dead girl in a row, he assumed he must be the murderer, and turned himself in.
Tara was also in jail, for drink driving. Her ridiculous mama refused to bail her on the grounds of some shit that neither we nor Tara were buying. Into the gap came a glamorous and mysterious social worker named Maryann, who swept Tara off in her nippy little sports car. Maryann’s smile made one wonder: was she a vampire? And was she also the woman who caused Tara to crash in the first place, being as she was, standing in the middle of the road stark naked, her hand resting lightly on a hog? I merely ask the questions.
Quick high five for Lafayette, who put the frighteners on a closeted politician. Go Lafayette! He looked, in his expensive suit, as handsome and urbane as Barak Obama, though considerably more gay.
Meanwhile poor old Bill, having been forced to ‘make’ young cowering Jessica, could now only stand helplessly by, a parent bewildered by a screaming toddler, as Jessica took to her new non-life with gusto. At first, as she reared, terrified, from the cold earth, she seemed distraught. ‘No more Mama and Papa? No more sisters?’ Then, slowly, ‘No more belt? No more bible class?’ She raised her arms high and whooped, ‘YAYYYY! I’M A VAMPIRE!’
Bill tried to teach her right from wrong, but, like Cyndi Lauper, Jessica just wanted to have fun. Bill, she felt, was an old fuddy-duddy: ‘I want to kill people. I’m hungry. You’re so mean! You suck. Ha ha ha!’
And then poor old Bill, having gone through his own personal ring of fire, raced back to Bon Temps, just in time to catch Sookie about to snog Sam. Sookie’s got the attention span of a gnat with ADHD. Bill, Sam, Bill, Sam – she decides purely on the basis of whichever one is in the room at the time. Bill probably thinks all humans are as fickle as her. They’re not, Bill! Anyway she meanly rescinded his invitation, which meant poor old Bill (must stop calling him that), was banished from her house. It didn’t help Sam though, who tried it on, only to be told shirtily that what with murderers, vampires and shape-shifters on her plate, she wasn’t in the mood any more.
She and Sam had managed to trigger the fax, which told everyone, though probably not my friend Gary, that the murderer was Rene. Weird coincidence, as he had clearly based his mumbling Latino performance on Benicio del Toro’s in The Usual Suspects. Anyway, poor old Arlene, I guess, and poor old everyone he’s killed, but I was just glad it wasn’t Hoyt.
So next week’s going to all be about whether the slow-poke gum-shoes can stop interrogating Jason long enough to uncover the crucial fax and convict the right man. Logic dictates they have to, as it’s the season finale, but given their pitiful work so far, bets are on that they’ll only do it if assisted by Ms Sookie Stackhouse. She’s a flake in love for sure, and something of a dunce when it comes to remembering she’s telepathic and thus could have sorted this out months ago, but compared to Dim Cop and Dopey Cop, she’s the closest thing Bon Temps has to a superbrain. God help us all, as Miss Jeanette might say.
Posted by Qwerty