The last five or ten minutes set up some good old-fashioned soapy drama for season three, if the show gets renewed. Everyone cross your fingers, because with Revenge being so terrible and Pretty Little Liars being almost indecipherable at times (although I am still hooked), TV needs some good old-fashioned soapy drama that isn’t also a) bleak, b) so confusing that it’s possible NOBODY remembers what’s going on, or c) a cartoon of itself. And which also empowers its older characters to be both flawed and fabulous. Seriously, nobody spits nails like freaking Ann Ewing, y’all.
Fug File: Dallas
They double-pumped this last week, to my surprise when I sat down last night to watch them, and we have a two-hour finale tonight. I’m not sure what burning things off like that means for the fate of this show, but I know there is a cliffhanger planned. So please, TNT, don’t just cancel it without giving us some closure. I need some more soapy shenanigans from these people before I say goodbye again.
In which Steven Weber arrives, on the wings of smarminess.
Fug Madness had me behind by a week, but this will catch us all up, and YOU GUYS, cable’s hottest show IS: Dallas. It. Has. Everything. Drunk people, explosions, methane, insults, ladies who fall down stairs, murderous grandfathers, and sex roulette. You know, that thing where you just spin around for a while and then proposition the first person your eyes focus on. AHEM. EMMA.
The credits were a spare, haunting, stripped-down version of the Dallas theme, ending in this shot of JR, which then dissolves into white. You guys, I don’t cry at stuff, but I lost it right then and there. AT THE MAIN TITLES. It was so sad that I am almost going to forgive the later accidental implication that JR doesn’t know grammar. I assume the props people were working through tears as well and so let’s all just hold each other and forget the bad times.
TNT didn’t do anything this cheesy; I just took a screen cap and made it black and white and threw some quotes on it to try and remind myself of how bangin’ JR Ewing was. Yes, was. He is an ex-villain. He is no more. He has gone to the Great Beyond. (And my use of Monty Python’s sacred parrot sketch should tell you that I do not take this lightly; it’s just that my stages of Hag-grief have progressed and now I’m into the little-known third-and-a-half phase, “Snarking Through The Pain.”) Lots of patched-together Frankenstein scenes with him happen first, but at the end of the episode, J.R. Ewing is rudely expelled from this mortal coil. And I do not consider it a spoiler to suggest that you only need one guess as to how it happened. This week, we grieve. Next week, we mourn the shit out of it. Get ready.