The End is the Beginning is the End: May 28, 2005
In which there are season finales.
Categorized
I swore I’d never become one of those people who marks down television events on their calendar, but I made an exception this week — what with three of my favorite shows dropping the seasonal curtain, it seemed only fair to dispense with my no-more-than-three-hours-of-telly-a-week rule and clear out my evenings for the ritualized finale-viewing. And oh, those finales! I laughed, I cried, I sneezed a lot. (I think that last one has more to do with my cold virus than with anything else, but it is distinctly possible that I’ve grown allergic to House.) And since I’ve sufficiently recovered from Finale Marathon 2005, it’s only fair to my readers that I write down my views on the various finales. (Oh come on, you know you want to hear them...)
It goes without saying, of course, that spoilers abound. If you haven’t seen the shows yet, read at your own risk.
24
Have I mentioned how much I love this show? Well, if Season 2 was my puppy crush and Season 3 was my first true love, Season 4 has been my moderate, middle-aged partner. Even a die-hard fan like myself has to admit that this season wasn’t quite up to par, not when compared with the last seasons. The plot twists were a bit far-fetched — exactly how many times can something go wrong for the terrorists, and yet turn out to be part of Habib Marwan’s evil plan? I find it difficult to believe that someone would go to the trouble of kidnapping the Secretary of Defense merely as a distraction, and as for blowing up Air Force One, that’s a statement in itself — after incapacitating the President, a nuclear warhead seems like (literal) overkill.
But oh, there were some brilliant moments. Like Jack Bauer robbing the convenience store — eeeh, that was freaky cool! He can raid my cash till any day. And MachineGun!Chloe — that scene totally made my month. Since my family and I have taken to calling her “Potato Face” (the TWP reviewer’s nickname for her), the first thing that came to mind when I saw Chloe go apeshit was “Brave Potatoes!”
Of course, one can’t mention the season’s highlights without mentioning the untimely demise of Paul Raines. I have to say that that was one of the top three highlights of this television year, out of all the shows I watch. If it was anyone other than Keifer Sutherland, that scene would have come off overdramatic and silly, but with his skills, it was tragically perfect. For a long moment, I honestly thought Jack was going to pull out his gun and shoot himself right there. I don’t often say this about things on TV, but: God, what a moment.
The season finale managed to dish up some plot twists I hadn’t seen coming. There was the evil-but-hot assassin, whose thigh holster I would totally kill for. There was the hostage situation, which was just a rehash of the situation last season, but with a slightly different reaction from the hostage’s spouse. There was the pseudo-Tony-death, which I immediately pegged as “pseudo” because, come on, how many CTU spouses can they kill off in this show? There was the face-off with Marwan, which was expected, and there was the face-off between Marwan and the pavement, which was also a bit predictable. Idealistic terrorists tend to have a short lifespan. Then there was the Chinese embassy imbroglio, which led to… pseudo-Jack-death. Pseudo. Pseudo. I knew at once that it was pseudo, but that scene went on so long that I was starting to think he’d really kicked it. If it hadn’t been pseudo, I wouldn’t be coherent enough to write this. And I’d also be in jail for murdering the writers.
On the one hand, I’m really really really glad that Jack Bauer isn’t dead. He’s my favorite character on the show, and has actually made it into the elite ranks of Top Five All-Time Favorite Characters From Any Fandom. Keifer Sutherland is the best actor on TV, and it would be a crying shame if they booted him off in favor of some other leading-man lug. But on the other, more ruthless hand, a show like 24 keeps its integrity by ruthlessly killing off its main characters. If Jack had really died, I would have been shocked and saddened, but it would have kicked my respect for the show up a notch. You know how I feel about fake killings — I think they’re cop-outs, and I don’t like it when the powers-that-be think they can play with the viewer’s minds and expectations. There’s good intellectual fun, and then there’s just plain messing around. In all honesty, this plot twist was somewhere in between. And in a way, it would have been okay if Jack had died. After all, how many bad days can one guy have before it starts to seem ridiculous? And that would have been a good way to go — shocking, yet somehow anticlimactic, leaving the viewer debating whether or not this was the way it should have been. I’m witholding final judgement until next season (aaargh, eight months!) so I can see where the writers/producers are taking this storyline. But if they’ve kept Jack alive this long, I expect to see more of him next season, and I mean lots more. I’d still watch the show if there was a new main character, but I wouldn’t be half as attentive, probably. To borrow a line from Randy Jackson, Jack Bauer’s “in my dawg pound for life, baby.”
But he’ll never be the captain of the dawg pound, not until he says nuclear correctly. After all these years of weapons and warheads, you would think he’d have figured out the correct pronunciation.
Special mention goes to Audrey, who’s looking to be just as lethal as Jack in the romance department. Also: yay for regular Chloe next season! I need my weekly dose of Potato Face. And who else is having fun thinking up new names and identities for Jack? How about… Jack Daniels?
What? What?
Lost
If this show were a person, I’d kiss it. Hell, I might even lick its toes. Lost has officially done the unthinkable: it started off perfect and it stayed that way. Not since The X-Files have I been this obsessed with a show, and I have to admit that The X-Files was nowhere near as consistently brilliant.
I’d heard that the season finale was going to answer a few big questions, but no such luck — if anything, it posed even more big questions. There was plenty of fodder for armchair analysts such as myself, however, and I saw several things that fit in nicely with some theories I have about the island and its denizens. Major question: if Locke, when he saw the “security system,” believed he was merely being “tested” and wouldn’t be harmed, why did he look so terrified? I’ve never seen him look scared, let alone that scared. And if Locke is scared, we’d all better run like hell.
To snatch a phrase from Hurley, that raft incident was “messed up.” Y’all know that Sawyer’s my homeboy; if I find out one of those bullets hit home, someone’s gonna pay. (I’m not really sure who, but it makes me feel all tough and mama-bearish to say that.) Back on the island, the whole thing with the baby was equally weird. Rousseau really has been alone too long — hell, her French accent’s even slipping. And I learned a new medical technique: gunpowder can be used to cauterize a wound. I so want to try that on someone.
Being the details whore that I am, I’ve been analysing that ship in the middle of the jungle. First off, who names a ship “The Black Rock?” It can’t be good luck to call a ship a rock. Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t that ship look to be 1700s or earlier? Maybe early 1800s, at most. And how the hell does a ship get into the middle of the jungle? Tsunamis be damned, it takes some special power to pick a ship up and set it down smack in the middle of an island, fully upright and with barely a board out of place. And ew, skeletons. Wait — I mean yay, skeletons!
(Side note to Wild Wild West fans: Who thought the science teacher, when he saw the gang carrying the dynamite out of the ship, was going to yell, “Nitro?! This is not the way you transport nitro!”… No one? Really? Okay, I’m a hopeless nerd.)
Special nod to Arzt, whose explosion provided the first really surprising twist I’ve seen all week. That was fucking brilliant. Messy, but brilliant. Also, madd props to the show’s music composer, whom I am going to kidnap and keep in my linen closet, where he will be forced to make beautiful music all day long. My life would be so much better with dizzy violin music at the dramatic parts.
American Idol
If you voted for Carrie Underwood, you’d better skip this entry and come back next week, ’cause I’m a Bo fan with a grudge. I nearly pulled an Arzt when I watched the results show. If we needed further proof that America shouldn’t be allowed to vote on any topic, this is it. Sure, the blonde has a pretty voice, but she has no soul, and by “soul” I mean “lurking drug addictions.” (Wait a minute, I’m on his side.) Bo, on the other hand, was both a damn good singer and a true professional — he really seems to have a humorous, humble approach to show biz in general, and that’s quite refreshing these days. Also, he always thanked the band after every performance, and that kind of courtesy put me right in his pocket. I like bad boys who are also polite.
This was the first American Idol where I actually bothered to call in and vote. Speaking of voting, can anyone tell me whether or not there’s a land-line voting fee? It’s not really important, since I only voted five-odd times, but my husband and I have been disagreeing about whether 1-866 numbers are toll-free or not. And no, I won’t tell you which side I’m on; if I’m wrong, I don’t want anyone making fun of me. I didn’t get where I am today by admitting my mistakes, you know.
The results show in general was a drawn-out, mundane affair, punctuated by embarrassing technical mishaps, Simon’s bad hair, and a surprisingly spot-on parody of ABC’s “Fallen Idol” special. Special nod to that girl who sang “The Star-Spangled Banner” — I say we send her to Guantanamo Bay and use her voice to torture prisoners. Two notes of that and any sentient creature would give up names, locations, their grandmother, anything. Also, David Hasselhoff has no place whatsoever at a singing competition, even if he’s just a guest.
For the record, I am going to buy Bo’s album when it comes out. Carrie’s got a nice voice, and I could think of some good songs and arrangements for her, but it’s depressingly apparent that she’s going to drown in a morass of cheesy pop ballads. Bo, on the other hand, has both the musical skill and the business acumen to make good song choices and retain some control over his career.
House
Don’t make me laugh. I stopped taking this show seriously somewhere around the third episode, and the season finale didn’t come anywhere close to renewing my faith. Don’t get me wrong, Dr. Greg House is a fantastic character, and Hugh Laurie has the most impeccable American accent I’ve ever heard on a British actor. But oy, the plots! It’s the same damn thing every week: patient has strange fatal illness, crew of half-wit doctors scrambles about making random diagnoses, diagnoses all wrong and liable to kill the patient quicker, seizures, screaming, doctor cleavage, aaaagh. And then some random detail catches House’s eye, and he saves the day in the nick of time, thereby earning the patient’s admiration and Dr. Cameron’s puppy-like love. Shoot me. This show makes ER look like Masterpiece Theatre.
The season finale was just more of the same, really, except that instead of some random stranger, the patient was the husband of House’s old flame. Yawn. The patient reminded me a bit of Kevin Spacey, so at least I got some decent eye candy out of this. The storyline dragged on and on and on, with House and his ridiculously good-looking ex alternately snarking and sparking — well, trying to spark, since Hugh Laurie and Sela Ward have about as much chemistry as a pair of corpses. From the looks of it, their love is as dead as House’s leg. But then, this could just be my anti-Sela Ward streak coming out. I hate her so much, it hurts sometimes.
End result: House saves patient, but patient needs continuing treatment, which leads Melons McHospitalAdministrator to offer ex-girlfriend a job at the hospital. I may be naive, but I do know when a show is desperately trying to force dramatic tension that simply isn’t there. If the show didn’t jump the shark with the hastily-resolved “evil benefactor” storyline or the dewey-eyed Dr. Cameron’s stalkerish pursuit of her gimpy boss, it has definitely jumped it now. Let’s all heave a sigh for a good idea (and a good character) gone horribly, horribly wrong.
Gripes: what kind of hospital has glass walls? Just imagine trying to use a bedpan when every random passerby can see you. Also, if the lady docs don’t stop with the plunging necklines, I’m going to personally arrange for Taliban officials to charge into the hospital and whack them with sticks. Diagnosis: this show bites.
So there you have it, folks — Finale Week in a nutshell, or How I Spent My Evenings When I Was Supposed To Be Studying. Now I have no excuse not to buckle down and do my homework. Sigh.
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