Tag Archives: Episode 3

True Blood 303: Another rug ruined

Ok, you might be taller than me, and VERY cute, but... my damn rug!

Even before the credits, Eric violently savaged a werewolf in Sookie’s house. What IS it with that house? Makes Amityville look like a retirement home for gentlefolk. Sookie ought to just redecorate in red, it’d save so much on Mr Muscle. Eric was unrepentant that he’d added to the mess. ‘I got your rug all wet,’ he growled, through a faceful of werewolf blood.

The credits provided brief respite before we were plunged into the King of Louisiana’s palace, silver-lined doors and burning ex-girlfriends a speciality. Talbot was most displeased that a valuable tapestry was used to put Lorena out, but the King dismissed him with a camply-arched eyebrow, and settled down to give Bill a little homily on love and humans, leaving the usually opinionated Bill quite speechless.

We got quite a bit more Bill back-story: how he tried to return to his wife after becoming a vampire (doh! Bad idea, Bill), and how Lorena came after him with her infuriating belief that there’s no such thing as too much make-up. It shows how evil Lorena is that I was amazed she merely glamoured Bill’s wife, rather than biting a hole in her neck and ruining yet another perfectly good rug. Poor old Bill just cannot shake off Lorena; she is the thick-skinned sort who considers mere stalking a tame way to court love. Her cunning plan was that Bill would turn down the King and thus get Sookie killed, but Bill thwartingly renounced his allegiance to Louisiana. Then he started shagging Lorena violently – and when I say violently, I mean he twisted her head all the way round to the opposite side of her neck so he wouldn’t have to look at her – with all of us yelling, ‘No, Bill! NO!’ It was the most disturbing sex scene in TB by far, and that includes all those other ones that you can think of.

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True Blood 203: I’d die of embarrassment if I wasn’t already dead

Here you go honey: another gratuitous reason for me to get real close

‘Sarah doesn’t whip her pudding out for just anybody’, said Steve Newlin, grinning cheesily at Jason.

Too right, buster! We could tell from the lascivious look on Sarah’s face last week, when Jason went for her with his wood (a stake, I mean), that she’d soon be angling for a little more one-to-one time. During their sickly sharing session at Christian Camp, Jason admitted he quite liked some vampires, and Sarah used this apostasy as a chance for a cry/confess/pray session of the sort that doubtless helped her snag Steve. She looks as if she wishes she had waited now – True Lust Waits – and is sublimating by whipping out her puddings and giving Jason the full force of her perfect teeth.

With Bill and Sookie occupied elsewhere, my favourite character Jessica sneaked out to Merlottes, looking wholesome as a Dairy Queen. It was inevitable her gaze should fall upon the virginal Hoyt, his blood pulsing attractively in his jugular vein. When he offered her a drink and she whisperingly asked for a bottle of Tru Blood, Hoyt was impressed. ‘Really? Cool! You’re really a vamp?’

Don't worry, it happens to everyone

The most charming scene then took place when they started kissing, and Jessica’s fangs popped out unbidden. Mortified, she covered her mouth with her hands and wailed, as have teenagers since before Eric was a lad, ‘I’m so embarrassed!’ I was worried that Hoyt was going to be bitten real good, but as Bill and Sookie discovered on their return, the main thing Jessica hadn’t been able to wait for any longer was adolescent love-biting of the more conventional kind.

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Glee (3): I’m going to ask you to smell your armpits

Will’s new man-band, ‘Acafellas’, resembled a Full Monty tribute act, playing to alco-popped slappers down the Ilford Palais. His abrupt dumping of Glee Club in favour of performing came from nowhere, and was hung on a too-visible hook marked, ‘Will needs to boost his confidence’.

Another slightly forced move was mean boy Puck joining the group, for the unlikely reason of wanting to meet ‘cougars’. Cougars are everywhere, all of a sudden. If only I’d known the term when I worked at the Students’ Union a few years ago, I could have styled myself a cougar – miaowww! – rather than a saggy older woman. Anyway, why does Puck need to join Acafellas in order to meet other people’s mothers, when he’s at high school, surrounded by them? I know it was merely a device to get him singing, but these things keep me awake when I should be getting my cougar beauty sleep.

The least surprising outing in the history of telly was quite sweet. Honestly, Mercedes, has there ever been anyone more gay than Kurt? It was great Kurt had more screen-time, as his funny little face is extremely watchable. Top marks this week go to him, and to the cheerleaders, for brilliantly never being seen in any outfit other than their rara skirts and knee socks. Go Cheerios!

The storyline about a famous singer didn’t resonate as I’d never heard of him. Continue reading

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Gavin & Stacey: I don’t know if it’s nice, but I like it

Rather gawky, and completely spaced-out; nonetheless, Deano stole this week’s episode. I don’t remember him being in it before, but what a fine addition he was. In a show which is running the third-series risk of becoming too predictable, everything Deano said was a surprise. Pam offered him tea or coffee, and he asked for ‘half-and-half’, which meant tea and coffee in the same mug. Mick, always urbane, asked him if it was nice, to which he replied, with great honesty, ‘I don’t know if it’s nice, Mick. I like it.’

When introduced to Gwen on a lad’s outing to Barry (number three in increasingly desperate storylines to bring everyone together), Deano spoke in fluent Welsh, though Gwen doesn’t speak it herself. Bless him, he’d been on an intensive Welsh course to prepare for the trip. Few more chaps like him around and there would be no wars. He did very well, actually. I learned Welsh for nearly a year, and all I could say was, ‘dim licio rhaglenni pop’ (‘I don’t like pop programmes’). It would come in handy if I ever discussed the X Factor – briefly – with someone Welsh.

Anyway, despite poor Deano’s smooth Welsh he still lost out on the girl to the handsome Fingers. Admittedly Fingers and the girl (my addled memory has misplaced her name), had already shagged at Gavin and Stacey’s wedding, and there was a lovely moment when Deano asked angrily if they knew each other and they shared a secret smile. Meanwhile Bryn, in entirely appropriate scout-leader shirt and tie, was in his suppressed homosexual element, with all the lads crashing round his place. Like the girl with no name, Bryn liked Fingers best, we could tell from the way he hugged him. Bryn is a sucker for a good-looking lad of colour. I love that he had prepared his house as a bachelor heaven, including putting out a subbuteo table and sticking a page three pin-up on the wall. But the funniest throw-away scene was of one of the boys, sitting happily in the middle of the living room with his feet in a foot-spa. Bryn sure knows how to lay on a good time.

They all went clubbing in Cardiff, and there was some tedious business with Stacey thinking she was pregnant but not being; only redeemed right at the end by her revealing she’d actually been trying to get pregnant all year. How many more of her batty schemes can Gav forgive? If it’s not five fiancés or insisting on moving back to Barry, it’s lying about being on the Pill. About time Gav had a little break-out behaviour of his own, I reckon.

I enjoyed Smithy’s freak-out over Nessa texting him. It never, quite, tipped over into self-parody, and was nicely revealing of Smithy’s inner struggles. In particular, the scene where Smithy got a throat-hold on poor old Owain and insisted on reading him the text (‘Hope you’re all right’ it said, in its entirety), was a joy. I laughed out loud, for the first time this series, when Smithy, clutching Owain to his considerable bosom, said drunkenly to Gav, ‘He’s more a friend to me than you’ve ever been’. Smithy had only just met Owain that minute. It reminded me of many a crazy night I’ve had in Cardiff, except, thanks to Deano, there was considerably more Welsh spoken than usual.

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True Blood 103: It‘s this sort of thing that makes me clutch my pearls

Let’s hope for Bill’s sake that Sookie won’t judge him too harshly by the company he keeps. Okay, so she crashed his party, but his friends sure weren’t welcoming. Not only did they fail true-blood-posterto offer her a drink, they attempted to take a drink from her. Gentleman Bill was damn slow off the mark getting to his feet and rescuing her sweet-smelling neck from their evil fangs, and once he did, he simply repeated, ‘Sookie’s mine’, over and over, till audience, cast, and for all I know, crew, were shouting, ‘Yeah, Bill, we know!’

Sookie, always towards the insane end of being able to live independently, really went off the rails this week. First she had a bonkers argument with Bill, in which she expressed revulsion at the news that he was dead. Huh? What did you think, Sookie? That is vampires’ main USP, after all. All these weeks you’ve been banging on about their right to a place in polite society, didn’t you bother to find anything out about them? Didn’t you read ‘Vampires for Dummies?’ They suck blood, and they are DEAD. That’s sort of the main thing about them.

So we’d only just got over finding out that our heroine was dumber than a box of hair, when she started to, ahem, pleasure herself left, right, and mainly centre. Okay, doing it in bed, fair enough, sensible enough place for it; but on the steps of Bill’s house in broad daylight? Sister, you may not realise, being a bit on the gormless side, but that kind of behaviour sends a very particular message.

Meanwhile, another of Boring Jason’s interchangeably tarty girlfriends got killed off. Though I didn’t get to see that, as the electric meter at Channel 4 ran out of 5p’s with two minutes to go, something I don’t remember happening to a telly programme since ‘Rent-a-Ghost’ in 1977. Still, it wasn’t too challenging to work it out: Dawn hadn’t showed for work and Sookie knocked on her trailer door going, ‘Honey, you’ve overslept’. Then she entered the room and walked slowly towards the bedroom, to the accompaniment of creepy music. Somehow, I managed to guess that the following missing scene contained Sookie screaming and Dawn of the Dead on the Bed (as indeed it proved on Catch-Up).

trueblood01Anyhow, ladies, take a tip from me. Not only is Jason the human equivalent of a slow paint dry; sleeping with him will end in your abrupt demise. Take a rain-check, okay? Go screw someone with a lower body count in their personal history. Sam the barman, for instance. Tara took my advice immediately, suggesting to Sam that, despite them having zero chemistry, and he being in love with Sookie, and she being in love with Jason, they might as well sleep together on the grounds of, well actually I don’t know what the grounds were, apart from the script-writers panicking that no-one had shagged anyone for ten minutes.

Not that we saw anything, for a change, because one minute they were kissing and then, ta-da, they were post-coitally asleep, the covers demurely up to Tara’s chin. Actually Tara was wide awake and listening to Sam snoring, leading to the best-delivered line of the series so far: Tara told Lafayette that Sam barked in his sleep, and he replied with great panache, ‘White people are sterrrr-ange.’

 Lafayette would certainly be right to say this with regard to old Jason, who bought some vampire blood off him in the belief that it would give him a seriously hard hard-on; but couldn’t pay and ended up, in the most bizarre scene of a bizarre episode, dancing round the living room in his kecks and a mask so that Lafayette could film him for some pervey purpose which I am too naïve to understand. Sterrr-ange to tell, even this extraordinary interlude didn’t make Jason interesting.

 

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