By S.P. Ashworth | TV | December 8, 2009 |
By S.P. Ashworth | TV | December 8, 2009 |
Previously on “FlashForward:” S.P. actually sorta liked an episode, which was extremely short lived.
We open on the lady who gave Demetri the good news about his murder as she watches A Christmas Carol at her desk. At work. Very intensely. Then the camera pans over to her window where she, like NotRalph, brandishes her own mosaic board. Neat.
And speak-of-the-Mongoloid, he and Demetri land in Hong Kong to look for said lady, ‘cause as NotRalph astutely surmises, “How many Western Persian-speaking women with that kind of accent can there be in Hong Kong?” I don’t know, NotRalph, but it’s still fucking Hong Kong.
Then, after a random threat from a Hong Kong agent named Marshall Vogel (who knows what was up his butt), NotRalph enjoys a lovely conversation with Stan who’s a titch angry at the boys for disregarding his orders. Then, acting in complete accordance with all human reactions, Stan smashes in the plasma TV in his office.
Hey, it looks like Lloyd and Simon are admitting their actions after all! At a conference airing, uh, everywhere, Lloyd explains their case. As associate directors of the Plasma-Wakefield Program, they were apparently attempting to reproduce the energy levels that existed just after the big bang, but on a much more controllable scale. And then, you know, some stuff happened. And stuff.
But after a few minutes of Lloyd’s floundering, Simon and his super-gay faux-hawk take the stand. He attempts justifying their actions, yet only receives cries of anger and disgust. But seriously, what the hell did Lloyd expect? That everyone would be kosher? Scientists conduct experiments all the time, sure, but they also use rats and shit. So yeah. People freak the fuck out with one woman actually grabbing a gun from a security guard and shooting at Lloyd. Bitchin’.
Only Simon doesn’t think so. In fact, he’s super pissed at Lloyd for accepting the blame because, to Simon, until it’s 100 per cent evident that it was their fault, he’s thinks they should back off. Ladies and gentlemen, Lloyd and Simon are now at war.
Woah. It took them eight minutes to get to the show title. I think by now either the audience knows what they’re watching or they don’t give a shit. Seriously.
Anyway. NotRalph and Demetri stroll Hong Kong while brainstorming all things “Persian” to help find this elusive woman, because obviously if you’re of a specific ethnicity this is the only way you order the activities in your life. And then NotRalph puts his “smarm” on and I’m talkin’ some serious, leaning against the table, arms crossed like an asshole smarm, when he happens upon a Persian restaurant. And then after deciding this must be the only restaurant the lady eats at in all of Hong Kong, NotRalph says, I shit you not my friends, “Yahtzee.” fml.
Back at in L.A., Janis waits at the hospital for Lloyd to visit his son in hopes of asking him some questions about the black-out. Naturally, after Bryce notices she’s waiting, the two discuss Janis’ flash forward and Bryce gives out his traditional words of encouragement: don’t give up. Oh, but Bryce. It’s much too late for that.
In other news, Simon wants a job with the FBI to help with Mosaic. Stan says maybe. Way to hold onto your scruples m’man.
So NotRalph and Demetri have lunch at this Persian restaurant, asking the owner if he recognizes the lady’s voice on Demetri’s phone. After the dude lies through his teeth that he doesn’t, NotRalph tells Demetri to wait outside. He’s done-doin’ some investigatern.
And then ostensibly threatens the poor man by telling a story about disappearing terrorists. And — what? I just don’t understand this turn in NotRalph’s character. All of a sudden he’s Badass Mghee, all ready to risk his job and shit? What the hell, you have a daughter, fuckface — step down for a second. Oh my god it’s all I can do to not scream to the skies! This man. This man.
So yeah. They get the lady’s name, as well as a Dim Sum restaurant she goes to. Whatever.
Over in FBI-land, Simon looks at the photos of Somalia with Janis and Stan. Apparently he designed the towers they photographed, but the hitch is he did that in 1992. And the towers were built in what year? Anyone? Anyone? 1991. And cue the ridiculously dramatic music.
So as Simon pisses over the fact that someone stole his idea, Stan and Janis wonder if perhaps D. Gibbons is the man in question, and hand a file over to Simon. He doesn’t recognize Gibbons’ photo, but he says he’ll do anything he can to help the FBI find him since he’s one jealous mofo and wants to give Gibbons a bitch slap to the gonads.
Back at the hospital, Lloyd tries to get his son transferred to a different, more secure facility. However, the man he speaks to totally shits all over him (as most people will now since they’re slightly bitter about all the dying and everything). Then Olivia swoops in and saves the day. Tra-la-laa, look at me, I’m so fucking special, my name is Olivia. WoOoOOo! I have blond hair. I keep my hands in the swell little pockets of my doctor’s outfit. Doo-dee-doo!
Oh, look! Demetri and NotRalph found that woman at the Dim Sum restaurant, so they sit down and grill her for a bit. And check this shit out: she says that NotRalph will be Demetri’s murderer. Ohhh, snap! But NotRalph is all oh no you di-int and the lady is all oh ya boyee cuz I know the serial number of your gun. And then she totally recites the number and it’s totally the same one on his gun. This is turning into one gangsta Dim Sum soiree.
And then KAZAGGAZAAM, NotRalph flips the table over and grabs the lady and fry my eyeballs in garlic what the fuck is going on?
So the boys run outside and NotRalph keeps pointing his gun at the lady and then that Marshall guy and his crew surround both him and Demetri until they’re forced to back down. And well that was just ridiculous — I’m not even sure where to begin. How did that help anything, NotRalph? Like. I. What. Guh.
Back at the hospital — well, can I just cut to the subtext between Lloyd and Olivia? Awesome, thank you.
They fuck each other with their eyes for roughly two minutes. Scene.
So turns out that Marshall guy is from the CIA (not sure why that’s such a big deal, though — thoughts, anyone?) Then, while Marshall PG-13’s the crap out of NotRalph’s self esteem, Stan calls. Guess who’s totally fired. NotRalph then takes off his gun and his badge, hands them to Demetri, because he’s “changed the future.” Oh, great. Just another reason for him to skulk.
Popazow! Looks like D. Gibbons is in cahoots with the Persian lady! Maybe if I keep putting exclamation marks beside everything it’ll sound interesting! Gibbons sits in a chair! And plays with these beads! They might be rosaries! Oh my god and then it’s the next scene! I just can’t handle all of the twists I just can’t!!!!!!
So I’ve kinda been skipping this other plotline, but the bottom line is that Zooey’s figured out that Demetri’s dead in her flash forward, and that it’s not her wedding, but his funeral. How she figured this out, however, is really, really fucking boring, so I thought I’d skip it. You’re welcome.
Oh, let the skulking begin. NotRalph slouches in his airport chair all sad and shit and tells Demetri he’ll never shoot him and never let the investigation kill him. Famous last words, my friends.
Hey so Nicole’s still trying to get into Bryce’s pants and does the ol’ “here’s a gift to help you with the girl you love but since I’m being cute and friendly maybe you’ll fall in love with me,” bit. Am I right?
Then Janis reappears to ask Bryce about getting pregnant and sh-shmer sh-shmer - penis - merrmarrmeemaw - sperm bank and oh my god I mean it Janis - stop fucking mumbling.
The final scene! Woo! Olivia and Lloyd wheel Dylan outside to take him to another hospital (and wait … Dylan is still at the hospital? What the hell?) The ambulance drivers have a hell of a time, though, since Dylan appears wary of their whole vibe. And I wonder why — OH MY GOD MAYBE — HOLY SHEE-OT PEOPLE THE AMBULANCE DRIVERS ARE BAD GUYS! I KNOW — I’M SHOCKED, TOO! AND LOOK THEY’RE STEALING LLOYD OH DON’T OH NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO -
Please stay tuned for more recaps from Miss Ashworth from her new, cozy dorm room at the Eric Martin psychiatric institute. She wants to let everyone know that she loves the staff, the colour purple, and thinks ice cream tastes very pretty. Recaps of “FlashForward” will continue only on her doctor’s recommendation. Thanks for your patience.
S.P. Ashworth is a fourth-year creative writing student from Victoria, B.C. with aspirations of screenwriting, but realizes that without penning the next Devil Wears Prada, she’s pretty much hooped. You can email her or leave a comment below.