Tag Archives: Episode 4

True Blood 304: Itching for another Inquisition

Honey, isn't this an easier way to not see my face?

In rather shocking fashion – not that I should be shocked by True Blood anymore – Bill broke up with Sookie over the phone. An’ ah thought he wuz a gen’leman! He told her the gory details about his shag with Lorena, though omitted the goriest detail: that he turned Lorena’s head 180 degrees in mid-congress. I guess some things must remain between lovers. While Sookie was comforted by hunky werewolf-minder Alcide, Lorena clicked her jaw back into place and purred, ‘That was the best sex I’ve had in decades.’ Bill’s response was to hurl her across the room. Romantic, I thought.

Being dumped typically made Sookie more determined than ever to find Bill. He sure does attract the persistent type. Like all scorned women – though we don’t all go quite so goth – Sookie changed her hairdo. I couldn’t understand why she thought temporary tattoos and a leather skirt made her look kick-ass. She looked wimpy as ever, except with dark hair.

She instantly got into a contretemps at the werewolf bar with Debbie, Alcide’s trashy girlfriend, who was being initiated into the pack. There was some stuff with Russell and blood and branding, but I was more entertained by Sookie’s attempts to be a tough girl by swearing primly and downing three shots. The booze had no discernable impact on her faculties, maybe because her faculties are usually rather dull. This scene ended somewhat predictably, with everyone turning into wolves. Alcide (struggling against the urge to wolfify): Run, Sookie!’ Sookie hesitating because now she was wearing a wig she was a dumb brunette instead of a dumb blonde. ‘RUN I SAID!’ And finally she legged it, like Daphne in Scooby Doo.

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Glee 204: Sweet lady kisses

After the behind-a-cushion cringe-fest of last week’s ‘Grilled Cheesus’ (which traumatised me too much to review), this week’s Glee was a cracking return to form. There was even a lesbian kiss, always a joy. As in all the best episodes, the plot was wafer-thin. They had to perform duets to win a meal at the excellent-sounding Breadstix restaurant (where, Santana explained, ‘they are legally obliged to keep bringing you breadsticks’). I think a Breadstix would do well in Brighton. Anyway, as there was no story I will just bring you some highs and lows.

The songs – At last, some decent tunes: a marvellous Mercedes/Santana River Deep – Mountain High, which is so obviously a Glee-type song you wonder what took them so long. Gotta love Santana’s jazz hands. And I thought Tina and Mike’s duet, in which he spoke his words like Rex Harrison, worked really well. But these all paled into insignificance next to…

…Kurt and Rachel together  – at last! The moment fans of high-end camp have been waiting for. All gimmicks shoved aside, Kurt and Rachel perched on high stools and ripped into the Streisand/Garland mash-up with great verve. Channelling his inner Judy – actually never very far from the surface – Kurt looked more relaxed than ever before. And this was easily Rachel’s least annoying Barbra impersonation. Marvellous! Mr Qwerty, who is just gay enough, leaped from his seat applauding.

That kiss – Wearing their cheerleaders’ outfits, Brittany and Santana twined together on the bed. ‘Ahh,’ sighed Brittany happily, ‘Sweet lady kisses.’

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True Blood 204: Maybe Jesus was the first vampire

I ain't heard of no Lazarus, but Moses walked on water

Despite its heavy reliance on shlocky old horror movie staples, True Blood nonetheless scared the bejesus out of me. Twice. First, there was Jason creeping round a darkened building to the accompaniment of scary music. His room-mates lay bloodied and dead, then a clammy hand fell upon his shoulder…. Aaaaaargh! But it was just Jealous Luke, playing a practical joke with a side order of ketchup. Jason hurt his lip in the fracas, but not his pride:

Jealous Luke, sniggering: ‘How’s your lip?’ Jason: ‘Fine. How’s your nose?’ Bam! He knocked that sucker right down.

All before the opening credits. I had to make a big mug of cocoa to steady my nerves.

A little later, Tara, alone at Sookie’s house, heard a noise outside. For several panicky moments, she scouted the place, slowly opening the door, looking this way and that, everywhere in fact  – except in THAT direction, Tara! No, over THERE! My hands shook so much I spilled my cocoa. When it just turned out to be Eggs and Maryann (though saying ‘just’ Maryann is daft when she’s clearly the world’s biggest baddie), I did feel a bit cross. As did Tara.

This is what we learned this week:

  1. Maryann turns into that scary three-clawed minotaur creature which attacked Sookie and Daphne, and killed Miss Jeanette.
  2. If vampires have to take day flights, airlines provide ‘travel coffins’ – like large travel cots, I guess.
  3. At the smart vampire hotel in Dallas – beds optional – you, or rather, a giggling Jessica, can order young B Negative men from room service.
  4. Maryann simply cannot stop eating fruit. She’s soon going to need some Imodium, the rate she knocks back the strawberries.
  5. Lafayette calls his cousin Tara a hooker and a bitch in casual conversation.

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Glee (4): Yes we cane!

Glee’s nicely subversive streak was demonstrated this week by Kurt becoming the best footballer in school. Two factors suggested he should in fact be the worst. Firstly, we’re talking American football, as played by massive over-shouldered male slabs, whereas Kurt is the daintiest, most slim-hipped little creature ever seen. He makes John Inman look like John Wayne. Secondly, Kurt has presumably never played sport before. However, and here comes the subversion, he turns out to be brilliant at football purely because he is a loosened-up dancer! The writers didn’t bother with any back-story, such as Kurt’s macho father having taught him to kick a ball as a toddler. No, they just went with the dancer-as-superior athlete theme and let logic go hang. I imagine the writers were horribly bullied by celibate Christian jocks at school, given the pedigree of the villains in Glee. Anyway, the charismatic Chris Colfer who plays Kurt made it all seem believable, even when boogieing on the football pitch surrounded by sneering homophobic red-necks. Go Kurt! K! U! R! T!

Not that the Cheerios were doing much cheering, for Quinn had got knocked up by the wrong man. Actually, any man would be wrong as she is head of celibacy club, and was forced to conduct a cock and sperm story involving hot-tubs to explain herself. This is going to lead to a bonkers plot in which Terrible Terri tries to get her hands on Quinn’s baby and convince Will it’s theirs. Nope, can’t foresee any difficulties there. Elsewhere, Continue reading


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Gavin & Stacey: The new Terry & June?

There was a pleasing amount of Dawn in this episode, as it centred round her renewal of vows with the grimly awful Pete. The more Dawn the better, though this was another episode which felt strained, as everyone was forced together in biblically unnatural circumstances.  Even the characters acknowledged this, Dave Coaches saying, ‘I don’t know why they’ve invited me’. Because the writers don’t have the courage of their convictions, Dave. They think they’ve got to have everyone into the same room. But they really don’t need to: one of the best things so far this series was Smithy’s reaction on receiving a text from Nessa.  Jones and Corden are like your decrepit old uncle, the one who refuses to use email or even the phone because face-to-face is so much better. But, as you keep telling your uncle, there are lots of methods of communications these days. Gavin & Stacey would benefit hugely from a bit of imagination in getting the main protagonists to connect without them having to be actually in the same physical place.

There were a few gems to enjoy this week, in addition to Dawn’s wonderful facial expressions. Smithy’s mother, failing to take charge of her two terrible kids; Ruth on her heelies; and Smithy in a suit – good lord, he was almost handsome, in an outsize department sort of way. Mick, when he saw Pete’s bling ring and said, ‘Whodya think though you are, Puff Daddy?’  Mind you, I love every second Mick is on screen, and would happily pay to watch him reading his Visa bill. If that doesn’t sound too weird. Was I the only one who actually liked Pete’s gangsta ring? I thought it gave him a bit of much-needed bit of dash.

But the terrible pregnancy storyline was embarrassingly underwritten. It was completely obvious from the word go that the lack of sproglet would be Gav’s fault, purely because Gavin and Stacey – unbelievably – didn’t consider that possibility. They both assumed it would be Stacey, which meant the whole story just tumbled headlong in pursuit of the incredibly boring, seen it a million times before pay-off , of hearing that Gav had a low sperm count. I was suddenly transported back to watching a shit 70’s canned laughter sitcom, accompanied by a twinge of anxiety that I hadn’t finished my homework.

Also disappointing was the personality change of the lovely Dave Coaches, from gentle and solicitous to mean and selfish. All done, presumably, to make more of a black and white distinction between him and Smithy, thus freeing up Nessa to choose Smithy over Dave. But this crassly ignores the interesting dynamic between the three of them, and the fact that they have all been, till now, complex characters: sometimes nice, sometimes not so nice. I don’t want Dave to be a baddie just so the other two get together by default. I want Dave to be considerate, as he was, so that if Nessa chooses him we can see why, and if she chooses Smithy we can believe that there must be a true bond between them.

Still, it was almost worth sitting through this tired and complacent writing to get to the last scene, in which Smithy told Dave that he and Nessa had recently woken up in bed together. Everyone’s face was a picture: Nessa’s when she realised she’d been outed, Dave’s when he realised she’d been unfaithful, and Smithy’s, when he realised he’d pushed it all just a little bit too far. More of this, please, and less of the sort of stuff I last saw when there were only three channels and Ab Fab was but a twinkle in June Whitfield’s eye.

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True Blood 104: Don’t say uh-oh

So another young lady’s slept with Jason, against my advice, and got herself killt. A podgy red-necked bubba hanging outside poor Dawn’s trailer said, ‘We caint afford to lose no more jason2girls.’ To which the assembled True Blood audience cried, ‘But where’s the fun in that?’

 The script-writers worked their butts off trying to make Jason interesting this week. Handcuffed in the back of the cop car he got rid of a full vial of vampire blood by downing the whole thing in one, as we had known he would from the moment Lafayette said, ‘Take one drop – two at most.’

This sprang on him a stiffy which, from all accounts, was larger than the Empire State. Under most circumstances in which we’ve so far seen Jason, he would have welcomed such a, well, thing. But being as he was under interrogation by two policemen on suspicion of murder, it was kind of inconvenient. He staggered to the bathroom so he could writhe in drama-school ecstasy and agony, till rescued by the magnificent Tara, who I like more every episode. We discovered via a Tenessee Williams-esque flashback that her mystifying torch for Juvenile Jase has been carried since she was a wee lassie, and Jase saved her from her drunken mother by judicious use of the screen door.

In return, she gave him an alibi; and once they’d been sprung from the sheriff’s office,  insisted on seeing what Jason was attempting to cool with a large steak. Her facial expression when he shyly moved the meat from his meat was worth the price of admission. She then drove his enormous member to the hospital, bandying words like ‘priapic’ and phrases like, ‘Do you wanna keep your dick?’ You gotta love her.

AUBERGINEThe doctor laughingly informed us that Jase’s Johnson looked like ‘eggplant’ – aubergine, British fact fans – which made it all the more cruel that despite the many female pubis that have shimmied across our eye-lines, we weren’t allowed to see this great purple throbbing thing. Still, knowing Jason, even in 3D it would probably have been boring.

There were a few more revelations about Sam this week; but as the main one was that he likes to writhe around in the sheets of recently deceased women, making similar moves to those thrown by Jason when repeatedly bashing his eggplant to try and lower the scaffolding, I think we’ll leave it there.

The proper action this week was Sookie asking Bill to take her to ‘Fang-tasia’, the dodgy vampire nightclub. Sookie’s annoyingly fey grandmother had asked her to use her telepathic gifts to find out who really killed Dawn and thus save Jason, so Sookie’s immediate thought was to check out Fang-tasia even though she can’t hear vampires’ thoughts. This was clearly nothing more than a pathetic excuse to ask Bill out, which he saw through, being 150 years old and having been round the block several thousand times. Wearing a ridiculous summer dress with amply upholstered bosom, she looked, as Bill said, like ‘vampire bait’, and so it proved.

The nightclub was exactly like a goth club off Carnaby Street I frequented as a teenager. There was a raft of rubber, a load of leather, and a sea of sex-crazed humans desperate toTrueBlood_Eric shag a vampire. In particular, everyone lusted after the King of the Vampires, a cool dude with a blond bob, surprisingly named Eric, who came onto Sookie by dint of being very old and therefore in charge.

Best line of the series was when Eric summoned Sookie for a little chat over a bottle of A Negative. Bill said, ‘Uh-oh’ and Sookie said,  ‘Don’t say “uh-oh”. Vampires aren’t supposed to say “uh-oh.”’

 Bill was at pains to prevent Sookie from cheeking Eric, and he kept insisting that the club was much harder and scarier than she thought, but really, Bill, it wasn’t, was it? You should’ve come down Tots in Southend with me and my posse in 1986. We’d have eaten you alive, spiked you through the heart with a white stiletto, and sang ‘Club Tropicana’ over your rotting corpse.

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