5.25.06: They Saved the Best for Last… Right? ‹ Blog

See you in another life, eh?
Desmond to Locke, Lost

They Saved the Best for Last… Right?

May 25, 2006

Well, it’s the end of May… and you know what that means. That’s right, folks: it’s time for my annual finale review! Every year since… last year, I’ve immortalized my views on the biggest finales of the season—that is, for the four shows I watch regularly. And without further ado, let’s get on with the reviews…

24 – You Had A Bad Day

Oh, the humanity! Obviously, Hitler’s maid wrote the story arc for the show this season, to judge from the vicious housecleaning that went on. Nobody was safe, be they guest stars or regulars; in fact, the powers-that-be seemed to be systematically exterminating all the familiar faces. At this point in the show’s run, I can’t blame them for wanting a clean slate, but—I’m sorry, but when you decide to remove such beloved characters, you’d damn well better write them a good ending, and they obviously didn’t even care enough to try. I’m still mad about how Palmer, Michelle, and Tony went down... and, frankly, I didn’t really expect that the season finale would explain away the pain. And it didn’t. The bad guy got taken down in the most predictable move of the season; Jack and Audrey got their happy-ever-after moment, which obviously wasn’t going to last, and—surprise! Here come the Chinese! So Jack gets Shanghai’d (heh), proving that someone actually kept the events of last season in mind, and the makers of the show obviously expect the fans to be COMPLETELY ASTOUNDED by this INCREDIBLE AND UNEXPECTED TURN OF EVENTS, which… no. The minute someone on 24 looks happy, something really bad is in the offing; the minute Jack looks happy, you know it’s only a matter of seconds until his life starts collapsing around his ears. Predictable, predictable. Can it really have been only one season since I was raving about this show?

American Idol – Play That Funky Music, Gray Boy

This may just be a silly pop show with drunken judges, seizure-inducing lighting, and bad amateur theatrics… or it may be a way to teach America that talent matters more than looks. That lesson, of course, applies solely to Taylor Hicks; I still reserve the right to hate Kat McPhee for her boobs, her tax bracket, and the fact that her father never has a Kleenex handy when he cries. In all honesty, though, I’m fairly stoked that my votes contributed to Taylor’s win—I never vote for the winning candidate, in any forum of life; most of my favorite political candidates have either lost, withdrawn from the race, or died in a plane crash before the election. With that record, I figured Taylor would either have a spastic-dance-induced heart attack or that McFalling-Out-Of-Her-Dress would club him to death with a mike stand before he could take the crown... but no, he made it through, and I don’t even care that he’s going to have to sing that stupid single on his upcoming album, because I finally picked a winner. I knew from his first audition that he was the best. I knew in my heart (and in parts of my spleen) that he was going to win last night, and it was that knowledge that made me sit through the endless skits, the medleys, the celebrity duets, the medleys, Kat’s hellaciously fugly outfits, the medleys, Mary J. Blige singing that damn U2 song that was really quite nice before she came along and wrecked it, the medleys, that drag queen they passed off as Toni Braxton, the medleys, the medleys, oy, the medleys. And then—then came the crowning moment, and all those nights of dialing, redialing, and tying up the phone line were justified. My horse won, goddammit, and I think I’m entitled to gloat.

House – My Leg Hurts, My Dreams Stink, And I Don’t Love Wilson

House gets shot, his leg gets better, his patient gets worse, his mind gets weaker (or does it?)… but then he wakes up and realizes it was all a bad dream! What a cop-out. Not that it would have been better if it had all been real; nothing about this show has ever made sense, though, so they might have taken the gutsier path and not chickened out at the end. On the bright side, House finally asks the question that’s been on my mind since the very first episode: “What kind of hospital has glass walls?” He doesn’t get an answer, of course, and I’m once again deprived of an explanation for the one aspect of the show that continues to fascinate me.

Lost – Michael, Row The Boat Offshore (And Leave Your Friends To Their Fate, You Slimy Bastard You)

Well… it answered some questions. And it raised a lot more. And it ended on a cliffhanger, which is great. And there were Desmond flashbacks, yay! And... and Locke cried and got things wrong, and Michael got his son back by screwing everyone else over, and Claire and Charlie finally got kissy, and Desmond’s girlfriend may know where to find him, if he isn’t dead by now. And it was all very, very good... but how long can the goodness last? You know how these shows are—one season rocks, then they break for the summer, and then the next season starts and it’s like all the writers were replaced by typing monkeys who can’t work a storyboard, that’s how stupid the show becomes. Maybe 24 has made me bitter, but I’m wary of expecting too much from this show—even though, in all fairness, it’s remained remarkably good through two whole seasons, and is still my favorite currently-running show in terms of entertainment value and all-around quality. But still... I’m waiting for things to fall apart, because that’s what happens, even to the very best shows. Sob.