"Do I need to get a warrant on God?"
TV was unusually exciting this evening, but first...
Stephanie J. Block may be wearing green clothes instead of green paint, but she's still the loudest witch in Oz.
Or in County Mayo, that is. Because she's gone from being the Wicked Witch to the Pirate Queen, and is quite good in the role. My favorite would have to be Queen Elizabeth, however, because she has nifty dresses and is convinced that she's living in an opera.
Nothing so memorable as Les Mis, or so epic or sweeping as Les Mis, or, in plain fact, so good as Les Mis, but still a boatload of fun and with a few scenes that tug on the heartstrings of any self-respecting Irish lass who thinks that hundreds of years of suffering and opression could have simply been prevented if England had minded its own damn business, plus Jeff McCarthy with a really long beard.
The Riverdance elements were annoying, but they do give you the opportunity to cat-nap, should you be so inclined.
The biggest plot twist: no one dies horribly, alone in a gutter, pining for the boy/girl/parent/child they loved and sacrificed for and lost. In fact, it ends quite happily. Which is the greatest difference between it and Les Mis.
Oh, and there's no turn-table.
And no prostitutes, although several barmaids come close.
And no one sells her two front teeth.
And no one jumps off a bridge. Take that, Bart Simpson. Maybe you should consider not jumping.
Alright, I've been watching too much Simpsons lately, I admit.
How much does Brennan love Booth? Almost as much as Booth loves her, that's how much! When Brennan and Zach dig up some bones in a cemetary, and all the priests get all weird about it, our favorite FBI Agent and Forensic Anthropologist start bickering adorably about God. Finally, they take their problems to Gordon Gordon, who solves everything very easily. He lies, but he makes them feel better about themselves and start not wanting to throw doughnuts at each other, and that's the important thing.
Meanwhile, Angela and Hodgins have sex on Cleopatra's bed. Seriously, how awesome is that? But when he asks her to move in with him, she gets all weird about it. Fortunately, in swoops Gordon Gordon with his metaphorical tights and cape, and makes everything better. Because of his British accent, Angela calls him "Monty Python," or just "Monty" for short. Which is adorable.
The mystery is basically this: who killed the pedophilic priest? Was it the grave-robbing mass-goer? No. Was it the kid he was molesting? No, because he wasn't actually molesting the kid. Was it the mean old priest who thought the other priest was a pedophilic and knows entirely too much about yew poison? No. Was it the other younger priest who is also being poisoned? No. They go through all these suspects before they arrive at the true answer: it's the random girl in the business suit, who was made queasy by all the guy-on-guy action in the wrestling ring, and was convinced that pedophilia was going on. Crazy person. On the whole, a good mystery I thought, and better (if less gruesome) than last week's.
Plus, A/H goodness is always... well... good.
On the BB front: OH HOW THEY WANT EACH OTHER.
Brennan: Ideally, I'd like to be inside Booth's head.
Gordon Gordon: Essentially, become one with him?
Brennan: Only in a scientific way!
Then she gets all defensive and runs away. Isn't it sweet?
Next week: Cement is an ingredient in concrete. This I did not know. Also, daddy's home! And he's brought a friend. His friend is named "pillow." It goes across people's noses and mouths until they stop moving. Oh, daddy.
So... Nikki and Paulo (aka Who The Hell and Who The Hell Jr.) have been buried alive. And I find myself really struggling to care. Surprisingly, this episode wasn't all bad, and I'm less and less looking forward to next week's Katisode as it fast approaches.
Nikki was a stripper. No, wait, she was some undercover person posing as a stripper. No, wait, she was an actress playing some undercover person posing as a stripper. No, wait, she was just sleeping with the creator of the show in order to murder him and steal his diamonds, along with her boyfriend, Wolfgang Puck. Er... Paulo. Anyway, we then are forced to suffer through re-watching the last two seasons in one fun-packed hour. Basically: Shannon and Boone were obnoxious up-tight quarreling little bitches and everyone will always think they're a couple even when they're totally not, they swear. Jack gives boring and stupid speeches that I, somehow, used to be able to put up with. Kate's a control freak. Boone stole some water. There are some guns. Benry and Juliet plot evilly and snicker about it to themselves while dressing like they're Lost Boys (except they totally are Lost Boys, except Juliet's more like the Indian Princess and Benry's kinda too old to be a Lost Boy, more like a Lost Middle-Aged Man, which he definitely is). All this we knew. What's new is this:
Paulo found the diamonds in the Pond Au Dead People, and hid them in the toilet at the Pearl Station. Nikki befriended Dr. Ass (aka Dr. Kaboom) in order to get an explanation about trajectories, but really just learned a lot about spiders that I didn't need to know. She sicced one on Paulo, and he was paralyzed and appears dead (I totally guessed neither of them were dead!) and then one bit her, and they were both paralyzed, but instead of "paralyzed," Hurley thought she said "Paulo lies," and then they bury her and Paulo alive. She wakes up just as they're shovling the dirt on, though, so she might not be dead after all.
Damn it.
Also, Charlie confessed the sordid details of the Kidnapping of the Sun, and Sun punched Sawyer in the face for his troubles. Sawyer may be growing as a person, though, because he threw all the diamonds into the grave before filling it in.
Also, Sawyer walked around without a shirt on, which was nice, and made up for having to listen to Jack's "live together, die alone" speech for the fifty million kajillionth frickin time.
Argh.
Next Week: Kate and Juliet... get in a catfight? Over... Jack? Please, someone give me a dose of paralyzing toxin before I have to watch two perfectly intelligent and interesting women squabbling in the rain over a complete douche who should die. Alone. That's right, Jack! You'll die alone! You cheese monkey you!
Stephanie J. Block may be wearing green clothes instead of green paint, but she's still the loudest witch in Oz.
Or in County Mayo, that is. Because she's gone from being the Wicked Witch to the Pirate Queen, and is quite good in the role. My favorite would have to be Queen Elizabeth, however, because she has nifty dresses and is convinced that she's living in an opera.
Nothing so memorable as Les Mis, or so epic or sweeping as Les Mis, or, in plain fact, so good as Les Mis, but still a boatload of fun and with a few scenes that tug on the heartstrings of any self-respecting Irish lass who thinks that hundreds of years of suffering and opression could have simply been prevented if England had minded its own damn business, plus Jeff McCarthy with a really long beard.
The Riverdance elements were annoying, but they do give you the opportunity to cat-nap, should you be so inclined.
The biggest plot twist: no one dies horribly, alone in a gutter, pining for the boy/girl/parent/child they loved and sacrificed for and lost. In fact, it ends quite happily. Which is the greatest difference between it and Les Mis.
Oh, and there's no turn-table.
And no prostitutes, although several barmaids come close.
And no one sells her two front teeth.
And no one jumps off a bridge. Take that, Bart Simpson. Maybe you should consider not jumping.
Alright, I've been watching too much Simpsons lately, I admit.
How much does Brennan love Booth? Almost as much as Booth loves her, that's how much! When Brennan and Zach dig up some bones in a cemetary, and all the priests get all weird about it, our favorite FBI Agent and Forensic Anthropologist start bickering adorably about God. Finally, they take their problems to Gordon Gordon, who solves everything very easily. He lies, but he makes them feel better about themselves and start not wanting to throw doughnuts at each other, and that's the important thing.
Meanwhile, Angela and Hodgins have sex on Cleopatra's bed. Seriously, how awesome is that? But when he asks her to move in with him, she gets all weird about it. Fortunately, in swoops Gordon Gordon with his metaphorical tights and cape, and makes everything better. Because of his British accent, Angela calls him "Monty Python," or just "Monty" for short. Which is adorable.
The mystery is basically this: who killed the pedophilic priest? Was it the grave-robbing mass-goer? No. Was it the kid he was molesting? No, because he wasn't actually molesting the kid. Was it the mean old priest who thought the other priest was a pedophilic and knows entirely too much about yew poison? No. Was it the other younger priest who is also being poisoned? No. They go through all these suspects before they arrive at the true answer: it's the random girl in the business suit, who was made queasy by all the guy-on-guy action in the wrestling ring, and was convinced that pedophilia was going on. Crazy person. On the whole, a good mystery I thought, and better (if less gruesome) than last week's.
Plus, A/H goodness is always... well... good.
On the BB front: OH HOW THEY WANT EACH OTHER.
Brennan: Ideally, I'd like to be inside Booth's head.
Gordon Gordon: Essentially, become one with him?
Brennan: Only in a scientific way!
Then she gets all defensive and runs away. Isn't it sweet?
Next week: Cement is an ingredient in concrete. This I did not know. Also, daddy's home! And he's brought a friend. His friend is named "pillow." It goes across people's noses and mouths until they stop moving. Oh, daddy.
So... Nikki and Paulo (aka Who The Hell and Who The Hell Jr.) have been buried alive. And I find myself really struggling to care. Surprisingly, this episode wasn't all bad, and I'm less and less looking forward to next week's Katisode as it fast approaches.
Nikki was a stripper. No, wait, she was some undercover person posing as a stripper. No, wait, she was an actress playing some undercover person posing as a stripper. No, wait, she was just sleeping with the creator of the show in order to murder him and steal his diamonds, along with her boyfriend, Wolfgang Puck. Er... Paulo. Anyway, we then are forced to suffer through re-watching the last two seasons in one fun-packed hour. Basically: Shannon and Boone were obnoxious up-tight quarreling little bitches and everyone will always think they're a couple even when they're totally not, they swear. Jack gives boring and stupid speeches that I, somehow, used to be able to put up with. Kate's a control freak. Boone stole some water. There are some guns. Benry and Juliet plot evilly and snicker about it to themselves while dressing like they're Lost Boys (except they totally are Lost Boys, except Juliet's more like the Indian Princess and Benry's kinda too old to be a Lost Boy, more like a Lost Middle-Aged Man, which he definitely is). All this we knew. What's new is this:
Paulo found the diamonds in the Pond Au Dead People, and hid them in the toilet at the Pearl Station. Nikki befriended Dr. Ass (aka Dr. Kaboom) in order to get an explanation about trajectories, but really just learned a lot about spiders that I didn't need to know. She sicced one on Paulo, and he was paralyzed and appears dead (I totally guessed neither of them were dead!) and then one bit her, and they were both paralyzed, but instead of "paralyzed," Hurley thought she said "Paulo lies," and then they bury her and Paulo alive. She wakes up just as they're shovling the dirt on, though, so she might not be dead after all.
Damn it.
Also, Charlie confessed the sordid details of the Kidnapping of the Sun, and Sun punched Sawyer in the face for his troubles. Sawyer may be growing as a person, though, because he threw all the diamonds into the grave before filling it in.
Also, Sawyer walked around without a shirt on, which was nice, and made up for having to listen to Jack's "live together, die alone" speech for the fifty million kajillionth frickin time.
Argh.
Next Week: Kate and Juliet... get in a catfight? Over... Jack? Please, someone give me a dose of paralyzing toxin before I have to watch two perfectly intelligent and interesting women squabbling in the rain over a complete douche who should die. Alone. That's right, Jack! You'll die alone! You cheese monkey you!